People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.

People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.

Winter is the season in which people try to keep the house as warm as it was in the summer, read more

Winter is the season in which people try to keep the house as warm as it was in the summer, when they complained about the heat.

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems read more

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.

Look! the massy trunks
Are cased in the pure crystal; each light spray,
Nodding and tinkling in read more

Look! the massy trunks
Are cased in the pure crystal; each light spray,
Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven,
Is studded with its trembling water-drops,
That glimmer with an amethystine light.

Over the river and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way
read more

Over the river and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark,
Deep-founded read more

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark,
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in
winter; the fleshy, in summer. I read more

The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in
winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the
bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood.

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how read more

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.

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--