Poem by Duncan Campbell Scott

To Winter (Come, O thou conqueror of the flying year)

Come, O thou conqueror of the flying year;
Come from thy fastness of the Arctic suns;
Mass on the purple waste and wide frontier
Thy wanish hosts and silver clarions.

Then heap this sombre shoulder of the world
With shifting bastions; let thy storm winds blare;
Drift wide thy pallid gonfalon unfurled;
And arm with daggers all the desperate air.

These are but raids in dreams, and friendly brawls;
Thou art a gentle giant that half sleeps,
And blusters grandly to his frozen thralls,
The more to charm them with the wealth he keeps:

We hardly hear thy bluff and hearty word,
When over the first flower sings the first bird.

1. Meditation at Perugia
2. The November Pansy
3. The River Town
4. At Les Eboulements
5. Spring on Mattagami

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