In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water read more

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.

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.

Yet all how beautiful! Pillars of pearl
Propping the cliffs above, stalactites bright
From the ice roof read more

Yet all how beautiful! Pillars of pearl
Propping the cliffs above, stalactites bright
From the ice roof depending; and beneath,
Grottoes and temples with their crystal spires
And gleaming columns radiant in the sun.

O Winter! ruler of the inverted year,
. . . .
I crown thee king of intimate read more

O Winter! ruler of the inverted year,
. . . .
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.

Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.

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.

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.

The frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind.

The frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind.

Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and read more

Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.