Winter Memories
Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Untarnished fair as is the violet
Or anemone, when the spring stew them
By some meandering rivulet, which make
The best philosophy untrue that aims
But to console man for his grievences.
I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On the every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun,
How in the shimmering noon of winter past
Some unrecorded beam slanted across
The upland pastures where the Johnwort grew;
Or heard, amid the verdure of my mind,
The bee's long smothered hum, on the blue flag
Loitering amidst the mead; or busy rill,
Which now through all its course stands still and dumb
Its own memorial, - purling at its play
Along the slopes, and through the meadows next,
Until its youthful sound was hushed at last
In the staid current of the lowland stream;
Or seen the furrows shine but late upturned,
And where the fieldfare followed in the rear,
When all the fields around lay bound and hoar
Beneath a thick integument of snow.
So by God's cheap economy made rich
To go upon my winter's task again.
poem by Henry David Thoreau
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Related quotes
Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life
Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Untarnished fair as is the violet
Or anemone, when the spring strews them
By some meandering rivulet, which make
The best philosophy untrue that aims
But to console man for his grievances
I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun,
How in the shimmering noon of summer past
Some unrecorded beam slanted across
The upland pastures where the Johnswort grew;
Or heard, amid the verdure of my mind,
The bee's long smothered hum, on the blue flag
Loitering amidst the mead; or busy rill,
Which now through all its course stands still and dumb
Its own memorial,—purling at its play
Along the slopes, and through the meadows next,
Until its youthful sound was hushed at last
In the staid current of the lowland stream;
Or seen the furrows shine but late upturned,
And where the fieldfare followed in the rear,
When all the fields around lay bound and hoar
Beneath a thick integument of snow.
So by God's cheap economy made rich
To go upon my winter's task again.
poem by Henry David Thoreau
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Winter Wonderland
There are strange and mysterious sounds
When the winds of winter blow,
The long nights are crystal clear and cold,
And the fields and meadows are covered with snow.
The stars are frosty against the sky,
And the wind's whistle is shrill,
As the snow blows against the house
And drifts against the hill.
Yet, I like to see during the winter
A white carpet on the ground,
To plod aimlessly in the deep snow,
where deer tracks abound.
I like to feel the stillness
Of a crisp winter's night,
Watching a full moon rise over the horizon,
Exposing a winter wonderland beautiful and bright.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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A Winter Message
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon your lips, my OWN surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Only as Winter
Beneath a blanket of frosty snow,
Silently sleeping below icy green,
Slowly swimming under black ice,
But only as winter did you know.
Such vibrant life awaits the spring
Bloom and sprout through this blustery cocoon
Slowly she tilts back to the light
Water begins to flow, and robins sing.
Slowly emerging from burrows below
Fighting to regain summer strength
To feed and dart through shadows upstream
But only as winter did you know.
Behind the scarf of icy winds
Squinting to see the light of day
Accepting winter only as a season
This too shall pass I say my friend.
It’s not the ice, nor the snow
You have to learn what’s to come
For spring has begun,
But only as winter did you know.
poem by Jack Dylan
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Spring And Winter
Spring is near
It is visible in the rear-
View mirror, winter is going to a far away place
From where it'll move at a very slow pace
It will encircle the Earth
And curb every birth
Spring will follow,
Fill life in the things gone hollow
Spring will make all the flowers shine
While winters make every one whine
Spring gives a pleasant touch to everything
Winter gives dullness to even bling
Spring will come and make us dance
While in winter, we don't like such a chance
Winter makes us crave for quilt and the sun
In spring, even failure seems something we won
In winter we search for everything hot
In spring, greenery spreads a lot
And makes us miss it when it is gone
Like we miss night every winter dawn
I hope spring comes soon
And be what it is supposed to be - a boon
I miss spring every single night
Come spring soon, the time has come, the time is right!
poem by Aishwarya Misra
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Dark Winter Blues
The darkness of winter in some parts of the world,
The blues that it brings to make them sick;
But who is able to challenge nature?
Dark winter blues,
From the middle of November to the end of January;
There our hopes lied so low in the North of the Arctic Circle.
Dark winter blues,
To endure the long dark nights of the Arctic winter;
With pastel shades of blue and violet wrapped in the snow.
Snow ballls,
Snow falls;
The dark winter does have negative effects on some people,
But the earth will keep on moving.
Wrapped in the cold of the snow,
With seasonal moods from the winter blues;
But this sadness of winter cannot be wiped away so easily.
There is no place to escape to with this claustrophobic,
But it is a matter of patience to push the days away;
And the orbit of the earth is all that makes the difference.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Winter's Spring
The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
poem by John Clare
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Approaching Spring
spring soon will be here
Away from the winter's snow
Drying up every frosty tear
And causing the landscape to glow
But the shine of spring I need right now
I need all the help I can get
To wave goodbye to this past winter
In hopes that I can forget
I've lost all my real friends
And almost ever other friendship too
Right now I am just amazed
That I haven't yet lost you
The approaching spring will hit restart
It's something that we all need
The approaching spring will fix our hearts
And allow our souls to breathe
poem by Matt Burgett
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Snow or Snowdrops?
Is it snow or snowdrops' shimmer
Whitens thus the bladed grass,
With a faint aërial glimmer,--
Spring or winter, which did pass?
For the sky is dim and tender
With an evanescent light,
And the fading fields are white,
White with snow or snowdrops, under
The fair firstling stars of night.
Little robin, softly, cheerly
Piping on yon wintry bough,
Why have all the fields that pearly
Iridescence, knowest thou?
Did old Winter, grim and hoary,
Aim a parting dart at Spring
As she fled on azure wing,
Or did she with rainbow glory
In his face her snowdrops fling?
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Winter Rose/love Awake
All through the summer I have followed you around
Bringing a rose for the winter thats coming
Now the snow is on the ground.
Winter rose. winter rose.
Shine your light in the air.
Winter rose. winter rose.
Skine your light everywhere.
Love awake. toll the bell.
Tell the world how glad you are.
Love awake to the day
When we can make our love awake.
Lord knows we need it any time we can get it.
But if we forget it every now and then.
But if you dont feel it, later on youll regret it.
And if we let it we could set it free, you and me.
Love awake. tone the bell.
Tell the world how glad you are.
Love awake to the day
When we can make our love awake.
Snowfalls in the winter,
Spring brings the rain.
But its never to long before the summer comes again.
It always comes again!
Love awake.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter's Whitest Spurts
Although John Clare declared that he
saw spring in winter’s whitest spurts,
for many this is hard to see
when, freezing, all our body hurts,
and winter’s direst discontent
makes cold blasts pierce the frozen soul.
We wonder where the summer went
when icy winds exact their toll,
and whistling toll for all of us
on nights we wish would be more silent.
each blast a blaring blunderbuss
that’s aimed to make us all an island,
disconnected from the spring
and summer, fall, that we remember
when we for warmth our cold arms fling
around each other in December.
Inspired by John Clare’s “The Winter’s Spring”:
THE winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please-no bees to hum-
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring-the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
12/24/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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An Italian Sonnet: How spring fell into winter
In my childhood spring blew a vivacious wind;
Soaring onto all life with magnanimous form,
Emancipating the flowers from winter's rough storm.
It flew capriciously and landed upon my skin.
How immaculate the wind of spring blew
Possessing an efficacy which passed with grace.
My soul reverberated it, when all life grew.
Until spring passed; winter's wind stung my face.
My innocence then ventured into winter's cold night:
All sunlight has fallen with the snow,
The life from spring lost their glow.
I became lost fighting in winter's blight.
The years have past in winter's flow
Until i recognized my own inner sunlight.
poem by Andrew Burant
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Wintertime
Winter has come with his cold breeze
Oh how I missed the long nights and cold air
Noble winter do as whatever you please
Some bees hide in their trees
The fauna and flora in winter so rare
Winter has come with his cold breeze
You all mighty of all season that freeze the seas
Warm us with your artic flare
Noble winter do as whatever you please
Oh great winter now that I m on my knees
The snow might have something to spare
Winter has come with his cold breeze
Yesterday was like a gentle kiss
There where so many stars to stare
Noble winter do as whatever you please
So you have brought us many diseases
Now in winter people so scare
Winter has come with his cold breeze
Noble winter do as whatever you please
poem by Ayrtonn Bautista
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Winter Melody
Emptiness and just a memory
Love is gone with nothing left for me
All those wasted feeling for something I no longer have
I never knew that love could hurt so bad
Winter melody, winter melody, winter melody
Play for me, just for me
cause hes not coming home and Im here alone
On my own
I cant bear to see the sun go down
Casting stormy shadows all around
Nothing seems to matter, I just get by from day to day
I never thought that you would leave this way
Winter melody, winter melody, winter melody
Play for me, just for me
cause hes not coming home and Im here alone
On my own
Winter melody
Play for me, just for me
cause hes not coming home and Im here alone
On my own
Loneliness, thats all thats left for me
Happiness is chilled by winters breeze
I keep on remembering the day that you came along
And since you left, well I just sing the song
Winter melody, winter melody, winter melody
Play for me, just for me
cause hes not coming home and Im here alone
On my own
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talking To Winter
'Merry Winter' winter said,
'May you be happpy by chill, '
I replied 'why thanks you alas,
This breeze is refreshing and shrill.'
Then winter said,
'My snow has to come, though it's late..'
I then replied in a pleasured voice,
'My Winter friend, it's really worth the wait.
For you can never desert us,
Coming every year, better late than never, '
Winter than calmly says,
'You're right, I have come forever.
Every December, Jan or Feb,
Turning up even in April I will,
To turn your faces warm with smiles,
So that you can feel the chill.
My soft cushions lay on the ground,
Snow, as I think you decide it's named.'
'Yes, that's its name' I replied nicely,
'That's what keeps Winter spirit, enflamed.
It's nice to know you Winter,
You bring happiness as well as a change,
You give us a shiny moon,
And coldness in a great range.'
'Thank you' replied Winter,
'Your comment has made me feel nice,
Like for once I feel warm,
My chilliness needs some spice.'
'Haha' I replied politely,
'I'd better stock up on heat,
Spice to winter sounds chilly,
Like giving coldness a beat.
Well thank you, what a nice talk, '
I said in a merry tone,
Winter replied 'well thank you as well,
Atleast this winter, I'm not alone.
Pleasurable talk, gets things open,
I hope we talk much more,
Maybe invite some friends?
I've got Autumn, Spring and Summer in store.
Lovely talk.' I replied 'same, lovely...'
poem by Viraj Bhanshaly
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To A Tulip-Bulb
SLEEP first,
And let the storm and winter do their worst;
Let all the garden lie
Bare to the angry sky,
The shed leaves shiver and die
Above your bed;
Let the white coverlet
Of sunlit snow be set
Over your sleeping head,
While in the earth you sleep
Where dreams are dear and deep,
And heed nor wind nor snow,
Nor how the dark moons go.
In this sad upper world where Winter's hand
Has bound with chains of ice the weary land.
Then wake
To see the whole world lovely for Spring's sake;
The garden fresh and fair
With green things everywhere,
And winter's want and care
Banished and fled;
Primrose and violet
In every border set,
With rain and sunshine fed.
Then bless the fairy song
That cradled you so long,
And bless the fairy kiss
That wakened you to this--
A world where Winter's dead and Spring doth reign
And lovers whisper in the budding lane.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Death of the Flowers
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread;
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchids died amid the summer glow;
But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief:
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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It Is You I Dream Of
a flower grows from beneath a blanket
of fine and purest white
it reaches toward the sun for warmth
for heat and for the light
my love for you grows stronger still
despite the surrounding cold
my heart is yours, bartered gone
for yours has it been sold
its petals shine from morning dew
its stem grows stiff and strong
it stands strong through the freezing cold
it stands the winter long
i long for you, for your soft touch
i miss the way you smile
the longer that we stay apart
the longer every mile
the flower stretches through the snow
it reaches toward the sun
and now without you the color is gone
the flower's petals, done
but as we talk, and as we learn
the flower comes back to life
the snow now melts and goes away
as you take away my strife
spring is here and growth abounds
as you and i are one
we are together, we are in love
the snow for now is done
i see the future, in dreams i have
of our life, long and true
i see the times where all i need
are comforting words from you
i see the times when winter comes
as winter tends to do
but we still love, and we still live
and i do still love you
trudy lynn gordon
poem by Trudy Gordon
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Now Here Again Is Spring
The day is now in sun high
And everything its pleasure
From winter's footfall try
Of dark and frost erasure
Now morning comes in glow
And glory songs of life
Before there were in snow
The footsteps of our strife
Now here again is spring
So full of life and green
From under winter's wing
That only gloom had seen
And every while is now fun
Of much light and flowers
For darkness deep’s on run
In every new coming hours
The yesterdays of sprung deep
In all its gray and dark
Are now whiles in joys sweep
With joy and light to spark
Come spring and sing again
With delight of life new born
And let old winter be in vain
With its loneliness outworn
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Spring Dirge
A child came singing through the dusty town
A song so sweet that all men stayed to hear,
Forgetting for a space their ancient fear
Of evil days and death and fortune’s frown.
She sang of Winter dead and Spring new-born
In the green fields beyond the far hills’ bound;
And how this fair Spring, coming blossom-crowned,
Would cross the city’s threshold on the morn.
And each caged bird in every house anigh,
Even as she sang, caught up the glad refrain
Of Love and Hope and fair days come again,
Till all who heard forgot they had to die.
And all the ghosts of buried woes were laid
That heard the song of this sweet sorceress;
The Past grew to a dream of old distress,
And merry were the hearts of man and maid.
So, at the first faint blush of tender dawn,
Spring stole with noiseless steps through the gray gloom,
And men knew only by a strange perfume
That she had softly entered and withdrawn.
But ah! the lustre of her violet eyes
Was dimmed with tears for her sweet singing maid,
Whose voice would sound no more in shine or shade
To charm men’s souls at set of sun or rise.
For there, with dews of dawn upon her hair,
Like a fair flower plucked and flung away,
Dead in the street the little maiden lay
Who gave new life to hearts nigh dead of care.
Alas! must this be still the bitter doom
Awaiting those, the finer-souled of earth,
Who make for men a morning song of mirth
While yet the birds are dumb amid the gloom?
They walk on thorny ways with feet unshod,
Sing one last song, and die as that song dies.
There is no human hand to close their eyes,
And very heavy is the hand of God.
poem by Victor James Daley
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