When Boreas blows a blustery storm,
Then every man sits at his hearth to warm
Himself and hide from Winter’s icy blast;
Every woodland beast by its den holds fast;
The bird of prey soars over snow-capped trees;
If something dare to move, his prey he’ll seize;
At last he roosts upon a limb on high;
O’er all below he casts his watchful eye.
He blows and icy gusts his breath sends down;
He empties every street in every town,
And stops the rivers so they cease to flow
And blankets Earth under a mount of snow.
For Boreas
Songs of the Gods 