Woods in Winter

It’s at that point where winter just feels loooong. We’ve had snow. Lots of it. Not refreshing pretty white relax and enjoy after the shovels are finally put away but quickly tarnished with rain and capped with gray skies and general BLAH! I feel cheated by not getting those snowy vistas with brilliant blue skies that make you need sunglasses.

 

So even though it’s nigh on Spring (oh please oh please some sunlight please), a snippet of winter beauty by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (also in honor of his birthday):

 

Woods in Winter

When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.

O’er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river’s gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater’s iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!

But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.

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