The Song of the Chinook

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The Song of the Chinook O-o-o-h! O-O-O-h! 0-0 OH! My warm breath sweeps the fields of snow As over hill and dale I go I melt the ice-frills from the trees And sift the rain-drops through the breeze; I sigh where rivulets are bound With Winter's chains to frozen ground; I melt the frost links one by one Until the crystal streamlets run!

O-o-o-h! O-O-O-h! 0-00-H! At night when all the lamps are lit Around the chimney-tops I flit; I tick-tack on the window pane With mammoth drops of winter rain; I shake the casements and the door. And through the tree-tops wail and roar; I squeeze the water from the snow And puff my cheeks, and blow and blow O-o-o-h! O-O-O-h! O-O-O-H! My voice sounds mournful when I sing, Although my songs are songs of spring; I tell of days when sap will run And song-birds greet the golden sun Of days when blossoms bright and fair Spray priceless perfumes on the air Of days when rose-buds will unfold And love's old tale will be re-told! H. R. Merrill