For works with similar titles, see Winter.
WINTER.
The snow lies deep o'er vale and hill,
For not a trace of earth is seen,
Save just a circle brown and dark,
Beneath some stately evergreen;
And compensation then is made
For leaving bare the trunk below;
By giving to each stooping bough
A gentle drift of fleecy snow.
For not a trace of earth is seen,
Save just a circle brown and dark,
Beneath some stately evergreen;
And compensation then is made
For leaving bare the trunk below;
By giving to each stooping bough
A gentle drift of fleecy snow.
The torrent we were wont to see
Its foaming waters grandly pour
Adown the crags and o'er the rocks,
Is hushed as if forevermore,
And like a castle hung in air
It glitters in the morning sun,
With lofty icy battlements,
And crystal turrets quaintly done.
Its foaming waters grandly pour
Adown the crags and o'er the rocks,
Is hushed as if forevermore,
And like a castle hung in air
It glitters in the morning sun,
With lofty icy battlements,
And crystal turrets quaintly done.
And beautiful the clouds of frost
That hover 'round the mountain's brow,
At first a thin and silvery veil,
But tinted like the rainbow now.
How well their beauty does accord,
As gracefully they float along,
With music wafted through the pines
Which seems the spirit of a song.
That hover 'round the mountain's brow,
At first a thin and silvery veil,
But tinted like the rainbow now.
How well their beauty does accord,
As gracefully they float along,
With music wafted through the pines
Which seems the spirit of a song.
What myriads of travelers too
There is abroad both day and night,
Though footprints left are all the proof
That often greets the human sight,
But thick beneath the sturdy oak.
And 'round about the chestnut tree,
And among the gardens withered weeds,
The tracks are wonderful to see.
There is abroad both day and night,
Though footprints left are all the proof
That often greets the human sight,
But thick beneath the sturdy oak.
And 'round about the chestnut tree,
And among the gardens withered weeds,
The tracks are wonderful to see.
And paths are hard on many hills,
Worn smooth as glass by tiny feet,
For sure, without the ice and snow,
The children's joys were ne'er complete,
With rosy cheeks and flashing eyes,
With merry laugh and shout and song,
Now first they learn to prize their time,
For quite too swift it speeds along.
Worn smooth as glass by tiny feet,
For sure, without the ice and snow,
The children's joys were ne'er complete,
With rosy cheeks and flashing eyes,
With merry laugh and shout and song,
Now first they learn to prize their time,
For quite too swift it speeds along.
They must divide the precious hours
Between the sports of skate and sled,
And half the figures they can make
Upon the ice would turn your head.
They leave the hill and seek the pond,
Then hie again from pond to hill,
And though to labor not a friend,
Are laboring with an earnest will.
Between the sports of skate and sled,
And half the figures they can make
Upon the ice would turn your head.
They leave the hill and seek the pond,
Then hie again from pond to hill,
And though to labor not a friend,
Are laboring with an earnest will.
But many joys the winter beings
For those long past their youthful years,
Of quiet ease, and plenty joined,
And friendly intercourse that cheers,
And though it has a chilling voice,
A grasp that often makes us start,
There is no winter we should dread
Unless 'tis winter of the heart.
For those long past their youthful years,
Of quiet ease, and plenty joined,
And friendly intercourse that cheers,
And though it has a chilling voice,
A grasp that often makes us start,
There is no winter we should dread
Unless 'tis winter of the heart.
But if the wealth of love is hid,
And checked the flow of feeling warm
The souls best attributes are dead,
And living is a useless form.
And checked the flow of feeling warm
The souls best attributes are dead,
And living is a useless form.