There's Snow On The Fields
There's snow on the fields,
And cold in the cottage,
While I sit in the chimney nook
Supping hot pottage.
My clothes are soft and warm,
Fold upon fold,
But I'm so sorry for the poor
Out in the cold.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Related quotes
Fold It All Away
The fire, the heat, the hungry daze -
I will fold it all away.
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
You made my heart soar and leap
And now my heart will go to sleep
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
All desire in me is gone -
Another’s touch would just feel wrong
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
Your smile’s engraved inside my head,
The view of you, touching foreheads
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
A kiss that made my heart melt,
Feelings I had never felt
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
I loved to hear your laughter most
But now the sound will be a ghost
Like clothes just meant for summer days
I will fold it all away
Such warmth and love can never stay
I will fold
It all
Away
Higher than I’ve ever been
The fall is here - let it begin
But I will rise again someday
The cold and winter cannot stay
For now that day seems far away
Like clothes just meant for summer days
And I will fold
Every piece
Away
It’s winter now
The cold
Will stay
A Winter Night
My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.
God pity all the homeless ones,
The beggars pacing to and fro,
God pity all the poor to-night
Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.
My room is like a bit of June,
Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,
But somewhere, like a homeless child,
My heart is crying in the cold.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Mother Song
_From the Portuguese._
HEAVY my heart is, heavy to carry,
Full of soft foldings, of downy enwrapments--
And the outer fold of all is love,
And the next soft fold is love,
And the next, finer and softer, is love again;
And were they unwound before the eyes
More folds and more folds and more folds would unroll
Of love--always love,
And, quite at the last,
Deep in the nest, in the soft-packed nest,
One last fold, turned back, would disclose
You, little heart of my heart,
Laid there so warm, so soft, so soft,
Not knowing where you lie, nor how softly,
Nor why your nest is so soft,
Nor how your nest is so warm.
You, little heart of my heart,
You lie in my heart,
Warm, safe and soft as this body of yours,
This dear kissed body of yours that lies
Here in my arms and sucks the strength from my breast,
The strength you will break my heart with one of these days.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Why I like Spring
Cold air
Trees are bare
Ice on the wall
Snow continues to fall
Cloudy night
Winters blight
Birds gone south
Just up and moved out
Ten below
Shoveling snow
Heavy wet clothes
Common cold cure, nobody knows
Triple high heating bills
Overpriced cough pills
Slick ice all around
One slip and it's to the ground
Stuck in a ditch
Too many clothes to scratch an itch
Cars never warm up
Coffee freezes in the cup
Feet are always cold
Daily scraping ice is getting old...
I don't really mean to complain
So please let me explain:
These are just a few of the things
That give me cause to love the spring.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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A Locket of Hair
Bright crispéd threads of pure translucent gold!
Ye who were wont with zephyr's breath to play,
Over the warm cheek and ivory forehead stray,
Or clasp her neck in many an amorous fold,
Now, motionless, in this little shrine must hold:
No more to wanton in the eye of day;
Or to the breeze your changeful hues display:
For ever still inanimate, and cold.
Poor, poor last relic of an angel's face!
Sad setting ray;--no more thy orb is seen!
O beauty's pattern, miracle of grace;
Must this be all that tells what thou hast been!--
Come then, cold crystal, on this bosom lie
Till love and grief and fond remembrance die!
poem by Brooke Boothby
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Cradle Song
O men from the fields,
Come gently within.
Tread softly, softly
O men coming in!
Mavourneen is going
From me and from you,
Where Mary will fold him
With mantle of blue!
From reek of the smoke
And cold of the floor
And the peering of things
Across the half-door.
O men of the fields,
Soft, softly come thro'
Mary puts round him
Her mantle of blue.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Psyche
I SAW a worm, with many a fold;
It spun itself a sliken tomb;
And there in winter time enrolled,
It heeded not the cold or gloom.
Within a small, snug nook it lay,
Nor snow nor sleet could reach it there,
Nor wind was felt in gusty day,
Nor biting cold of frosty air.
Spring comes with bursting buds and grass,
Around him stirs a warmer breeze;
The chirping insects by him pass,
His hiding place not yet he leaves.
But summer came; its fervid breath
Was felt within the sleeper's cell;
And, waking from his sleep of death,
I saw him crawl from out his shell
Slow and with pain he first moved on,
And of the day he seemed to be;
A day passed by; the worm was gone,
It soared on golden pinions free!
poem by Jones Very
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Human's Soul Never Freeze
In snow on a bench a poor man sat,
He was frozen, so cold it was,
He didn't have any shelter,
But shared the bench with a dog.
His mustache and eyebrows were coated with snow,
His legs were numb, looking the color blue,
Although it was so cold, he didn't wear his warm coat,
Feeling for the dog he used his warm coat to cover the dog.
That poor man gave his coat,
To save and protect the dog's life,
Not caring for his own health, in the freezing cold,
He offered warmth and care to a dog.
People found them and took them to the shelter,
Gave them food and warmth to treat,
One sure thing from this is certain,
That a human's soul never freeze.
.................................. .......................
(This poem is inspired from a true story i saw on TV news)
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Sonnet XVIII: On the Late Massacre in Piemont
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones;
Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubl'd to the hills, and they
To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O'er all th' Italian fields where still doth sway
The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred-fold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
poem by John Milton
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Ah, Bleak And Barren Was The Moor
Ah! bleak and barren was the moor,
Ah! loud and piercing was the storm,
The cottage roof was shelter'd sure,
The cottage hearth was bright and warm—
An orphan-boy the lattice pass'd,
And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow,
Felt doubly keen the midnight blast,
And doubly cold the fallen snow.
They marked him as he onward press'd,
With fainting heart and weary limb;
Kind voices bade him turn and rest,
And gentle faces welcomed him.
The dawn is up—the guest is gone,
The cottage hearth is blazing still:
Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone!
Hark to the wind upon the hill!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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A Child's Amaze
amaze, cold amazement
those faces i saw as a child
those faces that can still trap
me between the lines of their
scowls with mere recollections
those cold cold faces that seemed
to have come out of er somewhere
a torture chamber? a lonely prison?
disappointment land?
i did not know hell, too young to know
wonder who first coined cold as hell
could hell be cold anyway?
well then i did not know
much about fridge either
in backward borneo 40 years back
the coldness of people's faces
racked the mind and dissettled
a budding heart mored used to
cajoles and warm embraces
i still see men with
cold cold faces, demeanor
hell, ice, fridge have become
overused, redundant words
to describe such poor souls
i picture them as homo sapiens
who carry an arctic with them
and wonder how they could make
friends and warm them up
cold cold people with cold cold faces
who could cut deeper to the bone
than ice and snow
inspired by
A Child's Amaze
SILENT and amazed, even when a little boy,
I remember I heard the preacher every Sunday put God in his
statements,
As contending against some being or influence.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sonnet 15
XV
On The Late Massacher In Piemont
Avenge O lord thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old
When all our Fathers worship't Stocks and Stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groanes
Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold
Slayn by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
Mother with Infant down the Rocks. Their moans
The Vales redoubl'd to the Hills, and they
To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O're all th'Italian fields where still doth sway
The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow
A hunder'd-fold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian wo.
poem by John Milton
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S-n-o-w
Snow is cold like a frozen ice cube
its crystals like a diamond
Its like fun to make into snowballs and chuck them at poeple
snow is soft like a warm fuzzy blanket
Snow is bad when it turns to ice
But snow means that the angles on heaven are having a great time haveing a pillow fight
Snow is a friend just like you
poem by Ashley Jensen
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A March Snow
Let the old snow be covered with the new:
The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.
Let it be hidden wholly from our view
By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden.
When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet
Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.
Let the old life be covered by the new:
The old past life so full of sad mistakes,
Let it be wholly hidden from the view
By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes.
Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring
Let the white mantle of repentance fling
Soft drapery about it, fold on fold,
Even as the new snow covers up the old.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Cold Snow Fall
The snow fall this year will be cold.
How will the homeless surive;
living on your doorstep,
or in your garden?
They will trudge through the snow,
their feet getting wet.
Their hands getting frostbite.
Their lips turning blue.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
Whining for food at your door.
Limping and shivering from the cold.
Why should they be treated like this?
The strays will try to do what they can to surive;
eating leftovers,
scrounging on the bins,
being swept away with a broom.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
You'll be at home,
getting warm by the fire,
opening gifts.
Your door is shut,
the curtains are drawn.
You have no clue what is going on outside,
in the cold cruel world.
poem by Scarlet Outlaw
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Being Shaped
A cold drink in the desert!
Gold, sold, hold, cold, fold, old, told;
And like its own solid weight,
But, beaten with the hammer and being shaped.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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After Death
The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept
And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may
Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay,
Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept.
He leaned above me, thinking that I slept
And could not hear him; but I heard him say:
'Poor child, poor child:' and as he turned away
Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept.
He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold
That hid my face, or take my hand in his,
Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head:
He did not love me living; but once dead
He pitied me; and very sweet it is
To know he still is warm though I am cold.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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On Moonlit Night
Beneath a rather sensuous moon
They made a trail through the snow
Through the woods
That creaked from cold
On that Winter's night
She took the lead
Through feathery snow
That seemed the angels had spilled below
He followed swiftly, keeping pace
They stopped
They held a warm embrace
Upon this winter night
When all seemed calm
When all seemd bright
But most of all
It just seemed right
They trampled snow underneath
He made a bed
Wondering all the time
Could this be done...
On such a cold, cold night?
She offered wineskin sips
To him to warm his soul
And then she kissed him
Long, and deeply...melting snow
They gathered branches and pinecones
They struck a spark
And made a glow
They kindled that which they had known
On moonlit night
In bed of snow.
poem by Dee Daffodil
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Snow falls in spring
snow falls, winter starts.
We walk and have fun
But soon to be cold.
We now search for shelter.
Snow falling, Its winter
still to find our shelter
we need from the cold.
Snow remains, Its winter
were leaveing our shelther
we made from the snow,
But we remain cold.
Snow fell, Its over
spring has now started
Its warm and peaceful.
Our shelter is gone we
no longer need it
Spring has now started.
poem by Micheal Weston
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Moonlight
It will not hurt me when I am old,
A running tide where moonlight burned
Will not sting me like silver snakes;
The years will make me sad and cold,
It is the happy heart that breaks.
The heart asks more than life can give,
When that is learned, then all is learned;
The waves break fold on jewelled fold,
But beauty itself is fugitive,
It will not hurt me when I am old.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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