Now Winter Nights Enlarge

The moon is up, the stars are out,

The wind is in the naked tree;

And up and down and all about

Pipes the winter minstrelsy.

Weird shapes whisk here and there,

Betwixt the boles and bushes brown;

They skim along the ledges bare,

They dance the jaggy gulches down.

The moon is up, the stars are out,

Pipes on the winter minstrelsy;

They wave at us, the ghostly rout,

Beck my merry mates and me.

Aha, and had they heart's desire;

The phantom rabble — if they knew

The fling and crackle of the fire,

The sibilation of the brew!