And round the farm sheds and the fold

To match our blood against the cold;

And every one we met was gay,

And had the pleasant word to say.

What, then, were dreams of summer worth,{9}

{9}

While magic regions of the north

Lay round us, and o’er fields of snow,

Along the river’s overflow,

Were Arctic seas, with many a shore

And frozen inlet to explore?—

Or while we tracked through forests bare

Wild creatures to their hidden lair?

Or, when the snow had drifted deep,

We helped to find the scattered sheep,

Or, with the shepherds and their dogs,

Sat round a fire of brush and logs

At nightfall, when old tales were told

Of other days, and clear and cold

The starlight shone above the fold?

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