|
- O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
- The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
- Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs
- Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
- He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
- Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed
- In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes;
- For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.
|
