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Lo. sifted through the winds that blow,
Down comes the soft and silent snow,
White petals from read more
Lo. sifted through the winds that blow,
Down comes the soft and silent snow,
White petals from the flowers that grow
In the cold atmosphere.
Up rose the wild old winter-king,
And shook his beard of snow;
"I hear the first young read more
Up rose the wild old winter-king,
And shook his beard of snow;
"I hear the first young hard-bell ring,
'Tis time for me to go!
Northward o'er the icy rocks,
Northward o'er the sea,
My daughter comes with sunny locks:
This land's too warm for me!"
O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke
To melt read more
O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke
To melt myself away in water drops!
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and read more
These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines,
Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines,
Which she will make when summer comes again--
Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold,
Like curious Chinese etchings.
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.
Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the read more
Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet.
Dancing,
Flirting,
Skimming along.
But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest
concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.
read more
But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest
concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.
[Fr., Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan? C'estoit le plus grand
soucy qu'eust Villon, le poete parisien.]
When now, unsparing as the scourge of war,
Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar;
Around their read more
When now, unsparing as the scourge of war,
Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar;
Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows,
No nourishment in frozen pasture grows;
Yet frozen pastures every morn resound
With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.