Last Poems (Housman)/The night is freezing fast

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XX
The night is freezing fast, To-morrow comes December;  And winterfalls of old Are with me from the past; And chiefly I remember  How Dick would hate the cold.
Fall, winter, fall; for he, Prompt hand and headpiece clever,  Has woven a winter robe,And made of earth and sea His overcoat for ever,  And wears the turning globe.
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