What reck we though round our lodges
Savage storms incessant howl,
Tho’ fell winds with frantic malice
Ever at our windows prowl.
Can we not fling to the shutters,
And the logs in mountains heap—
Drown the tempest with our singing
While the flames in frenzy leap!
Bellow on, relentless menials,
Passing far your chief’s command,
Wreaking on the homeless wand’rer
More than spite of pirate band.
Drag from out his bed the cedar,
Snap the tossing boughs in twain;
Snow-intrenched, we still defy you,
Laugh at all your scowling train.
’Fore the blaze we’ll crowd the closer,
Swifter pass the cider round,
Louder raise the hearty chorus,
Wilder let our glee resound.
Mid the clicking of our hammers,
Crushing fast the oily nut,
We’ll forget that flowers have faded,
Or that winds their fury glut.
If within your heart, my brother,
Boreas plants no icy sway,
If the love we pledged each other,
Midst the breath of balmy May,
Hath not met the fate of daisies,
Smiling once o’er all the mead,
Gayly we may clink our glasses
And the storm-king never heed.
“A winter storm” is included in Augustus Watters’ Poems, published in Newark (1892).