Cold Winter is coming--take care of your toes--
Gay Zephyr has folded his fan;
His lances are couch'd in the ice-wind that blows,
So mail up as warm as you can.

Cold Winter is coming--he's ready to start
From his home on the mountains afar;
He is shrunken and pale--he looks froze to the heart,
And snow-wreaths embellish his car.

Cold Winter is coming--Hark! did ye not hear
The blast which his herald has blown?
The children of Nature all trembled in fear,
For to them is his power made known.

Cold Winter is coming--there breathes not a flower,
Though sometimes the day may pass fair!
The soft lute is removed from the lady's lorn bower,
Lest it coldly be touched by the air.

Cold Winter is coming--all stript are the groves,
The passage-bird hastens away;
To the lovely blue South, like the tourist, he roves,
And returns like the sunshine in May.

Cold Winter is coming--he'll breathe on the stream--
And the bane of his petrific breath
Will seal up the waters; till, in the moon-beam.
They lie stirless, as slumber or death!