Black Winter rear’d a prison grim and great;
He tomb’d sweet Spring therein with icy bands,
Then call’d his bitter winds from northern lands
And set them, warder-wise, to guard the gate.
He sang, he laugh’d a blizzard laugh, he cried—
‘Mine, mine! The Maid is mine for evermore!
The hurricane’s wild bells on Arctic shore
Shall peal in thunders when I wed my bride.’
The Sun-God heard the captive Maiden’s moan,
And sent a shaft of love, so strong, so true,
It pierced the prison and its Keeper through,
And drove him howling to his farthest zone.
The ice-walls fell: the gyves slipp’d from her hand:
The Maid stepp’d forth: bird-music shook the skies:
Her lover look’d into her blue blue eyes
And led her over all the laughing land.
William Wilsey Martin
Year written: 1891
From ‘Quatrains Life’s Mystery, and Other Poems’.