Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
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Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
read more
Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion.
When now, unsparing as the scourge of war,
Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar;
Around their read more
When now, unsparing as the scourge of war,
Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar;
Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows,
No nourishment in frozen pasture grows;
Yet frozen pastures every morn resound
With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale
and shabby, old and sullen.
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale
and shabby, old and sullen.
I grew up in New Hampshire. My closest neighbor was a mile away. The deer and the raccoons were my read more
I grew up in New Hampshire. My closest neighbor was a mile away. The deer and the raccoons were my friends. So I would spend time walking through the woods, looking for the most beautiful tropical thing that can survive the winter in the woods in New Hampshire.
Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.
Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and read more
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines,
Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines,
Which she will make when summer comes again--
Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold,
Like curious Chinese etchings.
Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the read more
Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet.
Dancing,
Flirting,
Skimming along.
If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train read more
If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side,
Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain.
People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare read more
People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.
