His breath like silver arrows pierced the air,
The naked earth crouched shuddering at his feet,
His finger on all flowing waters sweet
Forbidding lay--motion nor sound was there:--
Nature was frozen dead,--and still and slow,
A winding sheet fell o'er her body fair,
Flaky and soft, from his wide wings of snow.
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water read more
In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.
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 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.
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.
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.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will read more
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence.
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence.
Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and read more
Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.
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.
