Читать книгу Wisconsin in Story and Song - Various - Страница 13

Out on the snow the boys are springing,

Shouting blithely at their play;

Through the night their voices ringing,

Sound the cry "Pom, pull-away!"

Up the sky the round moon stealing,

Trails a robe of shimmering white:

While the Great Bear slowly wheeling

Marks the pole-star's steady light.

The air with frost is keen and stinging,

Spite of cap and muffler gay;

Big boys whistle, girls are singing—

Loud rings out, "Pom, pull-away!"

Oh, the phrase has magic in it,

Sounding through the moon-lit air!

And in 'bout a half-a-minute

I am part and parcel there.

'Cross the pond I once more scurry

Through the thickest of the fray,

Sleeve ripped off by Andy Murray—

"Let her rip—Pom, pull-away!"

Mother'll mend it in the morning

(Dear old patient, smiling face!)

One more darn my sleeve adorning—

"Whoop her up!"—is no disgrace.

Moonbeams on the snow a-splinter,

Air that stirred the blood like wine—

What cared we for cold of winter?

What for maiden's soft eyes' shine?

Give us but a score of skaters

And the cry, "Pom, pull-away!"

We were always girl beraters—

Forgot them wholly, sooth to say!

O voices through the night air ringing!

O, thoughtless, happy, boist'rous play!

O silver clouds the keen wind winging;

At the cry, "Pom, pull-away!"

I pause and dream with keenest longing

For the starlit magic night,

For my noisy playmates thronging,

And the slow moon's trailing light.