The passage of the snow, storm and the light
Unwarmed - Unwarned
"While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;"
"What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire’s ruddy glow."
As the snow storm roared, so did the warm fire.
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