Thermometer at twenty — flood and field
Are treble-locked, and petrified by frost;
Fair Nature's lovely face is half concealed,
And all her rich variety is lost
Beneath a spotless veil of virgin white.
The clouds are densely black — the wind nor-east,
And yonder schoolboy's shouts are heard a mile.
The idle plough stands on the upland height,
Frost-bound immovably, and man and beast
Suspend the industry of daily toil.
Come forth and breathe the crisp and bracing air,
Till mind and body thrill with genial glow.
Come forth and see; and seeing, tell how fair
The beautiful monotony of snow.
