Look! how the clouds are flying south!
The winds pipe loud and shrill!
And high above the white drifts stands
The snow man on the hill.
Blow, wild wind from the icy north!
Here's one who will not fear
To feel thy coldest touch, or shrink
Thy loudest blast to hear.
Proud triumph of the schoolboy's skill!
Far rather would I be
A winter giant, ruling o'er
A frosty realm, like thee,
And stand amid the drifted snow,
Like thee, a thing apart,
Than be a man who walks with men,
But has a frozen heart!