There's a music that's made
When a white velvet falls
To lay down fresh carpets
For the Winter Queen's halls
Sadly, its melody
Woos no listener's ear,
For its tunesmiths intend
That none other should hear
Its rasps nor its scrapings
Nor its snuf'lings of nose,
As the mercury drops
And a western wind blows.
Yet on plays this minstrel
Under veiled winter moon
(Though she with two handles
Could not carry a tune),
For she thinks on the Spring,
Of lilacs and sparrows--
As the banks pile higher
And blacktop drive narrows.
Then Sisphysian toils
Have some ending in sight
(Though the plow-rolls rebuild
Themselves during the night).
So the minstrel meanwhile
With her shovel plays on,
Paying the Winter Queen
Homage of labor's song.
