O Winter ! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there has thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o�er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain�d; sheathed
In ribbed steel, I dare not lift mine eyes;
For he hath rear�d his sceptre o�er the world.
Lo ! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o�er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch ! that deal�st
With storms; till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driv�n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.
(William Blake)
The crib-stock fothered horses suppered-up
And cows in sheds all littered-down in straw
The threshers gone, the owls are left to whoop
The ducks go waddling with distended craw
Through little hole made in the henroost door
And geese with idle gabble never o�er
Bate careless hog untill he tumbles down
Insult provoking spite to noise the more
While fowl high-perched blink with contemptuous frown
On all the noise and bother heard below
Over the stable ridge in crowds the crow
With jackdaws intermixed known by their noise
To the warm woods behind the village go
And whistling home for bed go weary boys.
(John Clare)
White and small
The weakest thing of all
Falls down from the sky
When touching something warm it goes by
Lands on my glove
Gentle like a dove
I look at it and see
How beautiful it is to me
Something small can bring so much joy
If you don�t destroy
The precious beauty
This is your duty
This is one of the most beautiful aspects of winter
So watch the flakes falling down and enjoy it !
