The Poetry Corner

Old Man Winter

By Madison Julius Cawein

There is nothing at all to do to-day. I can't go out and run and play; For it's raining and snowing and sleeting, too; And Old Man Winter he is to blame. And I just sit here and think it a shame. There is nothing at all to do. I stand or sit at the windowpane, And look at the snow and look at the rain, And the old dead leaves go flying by; For Wild Man Wind is making a din; And mother says that it is a sin: And I'm almost ready to cry. I can't go out in the wind and wet, And it's a long time yet till the table's set, And we are ready for toast and tea: It's a long time too till the lamp is lit, And my father's home and I can sit, And he can read to me. And I can not play or do a thing; And there's no one coming visiting, For it's storming more and more: But now and then there's a rat-tat-tat, And I ask my mother what is that, And she says, "The wind at the door." And she says, "Now what can the Old Wind want A-knocking there with his knuckles gaunt? You can hear his old hat dripping rain, And his ragged cloak that flaps and slaps. Why, I guess he's looking for little chaps, To give them a cold again. "You can see him there by the water-spout With Old Man Rain just flapping about, His long sharp nose an icicle, And his fingers too; and his old, wild eyes Small and gray as the winter skies, Or ice in a winter well." And then she comes to my side and sits And says, "Just listen how he hits! But he can't get in and you can't get out: And by and by he'll be out of breath, And grumble and growl himself to death, Or leave with a mighty shout." Right then there comes a step on the stair, And I run to see; and my father's there; With snow and rain on his coat and hat. Now Old Man Winter can break his cane, Can crack his cane on the windowpane I don't care a rap for that. For my father's home! "It's a wild old night. The Wind and the Snow are having a fight," He says, "and are mauling each other around: First Old Man Snow rips out a curse; Then Wild Man Wind says something worse; Then both are on the ground. "And Old Man Snow is underneath, And he snarls like a wolf and shows his teeth, While Wild Man Wind just hits and hits: Then round they wrestle; and Old Snow reels, His long wild whiskers around his heels, And his gray cloak torn in bits. "And before you know it he's up with a bound, And it's Wild Man Wind that hits the ground, And Old Man Snow holds down his arm: You can see them there by the window-light, Wrangling, wrestling out in the night, Out in the night and storm." Then I look and see how the wind and snow Just fight it out and thrash and blow; Their windy rags through the ghostly black Go whistling past the windowpane: Then I run to the fire and lamp again, And reach a book from the rack. The lamp is lit, and my father's knee And the fairy tales are ready for me: And I sit, and he holds me by the hand: Now Wild Man Wind and Old Man Snow Can do their worst and bluster and blow, I am far in Fairyland.