winter winds

At twelve o'clock tonight,
When every house is dark,
Who ride the roads alone?
The winds of winter. Hark!

The moon is clear above,
The earth is hard below;
And with a little dust
They drive a little snow.

The make the maples roar,
The withered flowers hiss,
Along the way they go
On such a night as this.

The winds usurp the earth,
And even safely housed,
Folk must cling fast to sleep
Not to be oft aroused.

-robert frost

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