I Shall Never Love The Snow Again

I never shall love the snow again Since Maurice died: With corniced drift it blocked the lane, And sheeted in a desolate plain The country side. The trees with silvery rime bedight Their branches bare. By day no sun appeared; by night The hidden moon shed thievish light In the misty air. We fed the birds that flew around In flocks to be fed: No shelter in holly or brake they found, The speckled thrush on the frozen ground Lay frozen and dead. We skated on stream and pond; we cut The crinching snow To Doric temple or Arctic hut; We laughed and sang at nightfall, shut By the fireside glow. Yet grudged we our keen delights before Maurice should come. We said, 'In-door or out-of-door We shall love life for a month or more, When he is home.' They brought him home; 'twas two days late For Christmas Day: Wrapped in white, in solemn state, A flower in his hand, all still and straight Our Maurice lay. And two days ere the year outgave We laid him low. The best of us truly were not brave, When we laid Maurice down in his grave Under the snow.