Hartley Burr Alexander

The Blizzard

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Whipped onwards by the North Wind
The air is filled with the dust of driven snow:
The earth is hidden,
The sky is hidden,
All things are hidden, --
The air is filled with stinging,
Before, behind, above, below, --
Who can turn his face from it? . . .
All the animals drift mourning, mourning. . . .
Only the Gray Wolf laughs.

Who are ye who wallow in the winds?
Who are ye who strike with stinging blows? . . .
Man-beings out of the North?

Beast-beings out of the North?
Snow-beings with fingers of thin ice? . . .
I am a Daughter of the South:
My lips are soft, my breath is warm,
My heart is beating wildly, --
I cannot live in the cold. . . .
All my animals drift mourning, mourning. . . .
Only the gaunt Gray Wolf is laughing.

To-morrow three suns will rise, side by side;
All the earth will be covered with dazzling snow, --
Cold, cold, and very quiet. . . .
The animals will lie buried in the snow, --
Cold, and very quiet. . . .
But the gaunt Gray Wolf will break a new trail,
Running, with three shadows blue upon the snow.

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Hartley Burr Alexander