On the Arrival of Winter by W. B. Attley

Yet once more summer days have fled,
A spring matured so soon is dead;
One bright page more of nature's dream
Thus closed for ever on the stream.

So silent gliding to its doom,
To that great ocean and the tomb,
Where swells the bosom of the past
With joys and sorrows -- some the last.

And yet we welcome season's change --
A ghost of summer on the range,
A paler form of golden days,
A silvery time of sunny rays.

Where comforts are, there welcomes roll
To this pale daughter of the pole,
Whose kiss imparting in repose,
To cheeks awake the blushing rose.

Where dainty morsels all aglow
Can brave the falling feahery snow,
and warm, theu hapy hearts renew,
With draughts of breath from morning dew.

But still another phase we see
In cold and want, in misery;
Here hangs the burden of my song,
When days are short, and nights are long.
 
There where mortals feel the blast,
Where winter fills the cup at last;
Where sunny smiles are seen no more,
Since death has cast its shadows o'er.

So weal and woe shall ever flow,
While sun and shadow onward go,
Till breaks the bright eternal day,
When winter's chill shall flee away.

First published in The Australian Town & Country Journal, 24 June 1882

Author: nothing is known about the author of this poem.

Author reference sites: Austlit