Cold by Madison Cawein

/ A mist that froze beneath the moon and shook / Minutest frosty fire in the air. / All night the wind was still as lonely Care / Who sighs before her shivering ingle-nook. / The face of Winter wore a crueler look / Than when he shakes the icicles from his hair, / And, in the boisterous pauses, lets his stare / Freeze through the forest, fettering bough and brook. / He is the despot now who sits and dreams / Of Desolation and Despair, and smiles / At Poverty, who hath no place to rest, / Who wanders o'er Life's snow-made pathless miles, / And sees the Home-of-Comfort's window gleams, / And hugs her rag-wrapped baby to her breast.