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Dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
And reigns, tremendous, o'er the conquer'd Year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His desolate domain.

James Thomson, The Seasons

The Gates of Winter

Something you know,
Or something you forgot?
The whispers that resound through your mind
From those places where you'd fear to go.
Springs from inside,
Your descent from it you cannot hide—
The mist-world that you know from your dreams
Envelops Nature in its clutches, far and wide.

At the gates of Winter
In the gathering night
Its fearsome flock approaches,
Growing closer within sight.

A wind came with dawn
From mist-lands in the north.
A harbinger of auroral haze
Clutching fallen leaves in Niefel-spawn.
Circling the scene,
The raptor's ghost outsides has seen.
His spirit lends its will to the mist,
Uncreating as his lot has always been.

At the gates of Winter
With the huntsman in flight
His hideous pack approaches
Drawing closer within sight.

Fingers of night-clawing
Frostened wood
Reaching skywards, reeling
Storm-night's Bor-spawn, within
Striking distance
Wild hunt wind-borne follows.

Cling to the flame,
As dark is growing forth.
Agaist it clutch the fire in your mind,
And ensure that you and it are same.
In echoes of rain,
In the firelight where to remain
Some shades of the deep cavernous depths
Are coming close to know existance once again.

By the chasm of Winter
As man clings to the light
An elder host approaches
Stainless stay within its sight

Open'd gates of Winter!
In the bright-frosten'd night
What Winter's is approaches,
Drawing closer within sight.

The Wind of the North, a prose poem with a similar theme.


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