Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow.
A sad tale's best for winter.
I have one of sprites and goblins.
There's a certain Slant of light,
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes—
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candlelight.
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,
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape . . .
Andrew Wyeth (1917- )
quoted by Richard Meryman in The Art of Andrew Wyeth, 1973
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.
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," 1923
Every mile is two in winter.
Over the river and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
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.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl.
It snowed and snowed, the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.