|O the throat of winter is upon us
|The barren barley fields refuse to sway
|Before the Husky hag of early darkness
|In her hoods of snowy grey.
|Winter winter winter
|Are you but a servant of the bad one.
|Lo the frozen blue birds in the belfries
|The bluebells in their hearts are surely prey
|Unto the grasping bats-wing of the winter pincer
|Hoods of snowy grey.
|The Throat Of Winter