My heart delights in poet's minstrelsie, In pictures ranged down some long gallerie, In mandolins and all sweet melodie. And yet, when I go walking through the woods On frosty days, and watch the falling snow, I would renounce all Culture's radiant moods To live in ice-lands with the Eskimo. How purely gleams the mantle of the snow! How softly sing the myriad silver tongues Of whirling flakes that wrought Earth's overthrow! With the keen air I fill my tired lungs, And shout for joy and dance for very mirth Because all Heaven has fallen down to Earth. And in this mood I'd save my soul, and so Through pure clean ways right into Heaven go. AIR RAID I wonder if they'll come to-night! The round moon rolls in silvery light, No sound throbs on the windless air. For, though I tremble to confess, I never feel more cheerfulness Than when the German raiders fly Like bees across the cloudless sky. And neither pity, pain, nor terror Will ever wean me from my error. For oh, to hear the mad guns go, And watch the starry night aglow With radiance of crackling fires And the white searchlight's quivering spires! For sure, such splendour doth assuage The very cannon of its rage! My neighbour plays a violin, Shredding sweet silver down the din And songs for fears to dwindle in. But the houses shake; and the dogs wake. They growl, they bark for warrior joy, And seek the airmen to annoy. Up go their tails into the air, They gnash their teeth, and their eyes glare. But on those cruel raiders sail, Regardless of each quivering tail. And one gun has a booming note, Another has a cold in throat; And some are mellow, and some hoarse, And some sound sobbing with remorse; Quite four or five ring musical, And others very keen to kill. You'd say that twenty champagne corks Were popping in the London walks. You'd say that drunken men in scores Were smashing glass and slamming doors. You'd say a twanging banjo string Had snapped in twain with hammering. You'd say that wild orchestral fellows Were banging God's Throne with their cellos. A wail, a crash, like steel trays falling, And a wind upon the Common--calling. And over us a sound of humming --Of hornets or bad bees a-bumming! A devilish, strident, hoarse, discordant Whirring of dark fliers mordant. My soul stands still and sweats with fear. But the Heavenly stars, all shimmering, Dance in a giddy whirl and sing. And other stars, of the Earth, shake sheer From the mouths of the black guns thundering. 'Tis like some ruining harmony I heard in Berlin on the Spree The day they played the Valkyrie. Kind Heaven will comfort my wracked wits Before I'm blown to little bits. SICKNESS IN WINTER