And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters
of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to
cruel and fierce storms. . . . For summer being done, all things
stand upon them with a weather-beaten face, and the whole
country, full of woods and thickets, represented a wild and
savage hue.
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Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems read more
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
read more
Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion.
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.
And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.
And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.
Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a read more
Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a vale of grief,
And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,
Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay--
Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.
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.
The frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind.
The frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind.
People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare read more
People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.
Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.
Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.
