Classic Poem

Harsh cry the crows
And townward take their whirring flight;
Soon comes the snows —
Happy who has a home this night.

With glances dead
Thou gazest backward as of old!
Why hadst thou fled
Unto the world from winter's cold?

The world — a gate
To freezing deserts dumb and bare!
Who lost what late
Thou lost is homeless everywhere.

Pale one, to bleak
And wintry pilgrimages driven,
Smoke-like to seek
The ever colder heights of heaven.

Soar, bird, fling wide
That song of birds in deserts born!
O madman, hide
Thy bleeding heart in ice and scorn.

Harsh cry the crows
And townward take their whirring flight;
Soon comes the snows —
Woe unto him who has no home this night.