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.
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O Winter! ruler of the inverted year,
. . . .
I crown thee king of intimate read more
O Winter! ruler of the inverted year,
. . . .
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters
of that country know them to read more
And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters
of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to
cruel and fierce storms. . . . For summer being done, all things
stand upon them with a weather-beaten face, and the whole
country, full of woods and thickets, represented a wild and
savage hue.
It snowed and snowed, the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A read more
It snowed and snowed, the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
Where's the snow
That fell the year that's fled--where's the snow?
Where's the snow
That fell the year that's fled--where's the snow?
There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of read more
There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--
Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.
Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.
Our Lady of the Snows.
[Lat., Notre Dames des Neiges.]
Our Lady of the Snows.
[Lat., Notre Dames des Neiges.]
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 is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for read more
Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
