Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Theologian's Tale; Elizabeth
'Ah, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us!
In the old country the twilight is longer; but here in the forest
Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its coming,
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight;
Yet how grand is the winter! How spotless the snow is, and perfect!'
Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at nightfall to Hannah the housemaid,
As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen and parlor,
By the window she sat with her work, and looked on a landscape
White as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his vision,
By the four corners let down and descending out of the heavens.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Related quotes
A Dot On White Sheet!
Green leaves of spring are not there;
Colourful flowers of all seasons are gone;
Only white snow covers all in winter!
Winter snow thick or thin is white sheet
That covers all colourful things long!
Scrubbing snow on the road is a daily exercise
To clear route for all vehicles to go smooth;
All covered with fur cloth move in the street;
This white snow is like a white sheet of paper;
All the movements on it are the dots of scribble!
Writers are hungry of white paper to write on;
Poets are fond of writing poems on white sheet;
And the matters on white paper are men on snow;
But nobody likes winter as all are for colourful life!
poem by Ramesh T A
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My Snow White
There once was a girl and if I remember right,
She went by the name of Snow White,
Skin white as the snow, hair black as the night,
She lived with seven men of very short height.
She washed their clothes and prepared their food,
And that’s not all, I’m afraid it gets rude,
Each one she loved and each one she screwed,
Snow white kept the dwarfs in a very good mood.
One day an old hag jealous of what she had,
Fed her an apple which had gone bad,
Then out popped a maggot, Snow White was mad,
Another little man all shrivelled and sad.
All this for a roof above her head,
Now another man to please and take to bed,
She looked at the dwarfs and angrily said,
“I’m moving to the house made of gingerbread.”
Off she went following a path of crumbs,
Sniffing the air and licking her gums,
Pushing Hansel and Grettle into the slums,
Deep into the forest with their two gay mums.
She ran to the house made of biscuit and vanilla,
Excited to see her gorgeous dream fella,
Who she found on the floor with Cinderella,
What the hell was she doing out of the cellar?
Snow White shouted and screamed at the pair,
How could he be shagging her,
She stinks of shit and is covered in hair,
Snow White felt sick just standing there.
Too sad and weak to put up a fight,
She cried herself to sleep that night,
From then on she stayed low and out of sight,
That’s the last I heard of good old Snow White.
poem by Lindsey Ashton
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Now Those Times Are Here Again (from Minutes of Falling Days)
Now those times are here again
When the days will become darker
And in the hearts of various men
Yesterdays shall become sparker
When the snow will fall and glow
Bringing chilliness and holidays
As each month to darkness will go
In the glisten down falling glaze
When the snow is back in here
Silvery white on a frozen earth
For now this time’s coming near
With its mistletoes and mirth
With its snow-white cold ice
Bracing windows in a frosty rose
Morning dark and twilight skies
When on treetops cold wind blows
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Unsatisfied
'ONLY a housemaid!' She looked from the kitchen,--
Neat was the kitchen and tidy was she;
There at her window a sempstress sat stitching;
'Were I a sempstress, how happy I'd be!'
'Only a Queen!' She looked over the waters,--
Fair was her kingdom and mighty was she;
There sat an Empress, with Queens for her daughters;
'Were I an Empress, how happy I'd be!'
Still the old frailty they all of them trip in!
Eve in her daughters is ever the same;
Give her all Eden, she sighs for a pippin;
Give her an Empire, she pines for a name!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Snow White Transparent
“Mirror… Mirror…”
Snow White stops
Looks down at
Her hand
Perfectly pale
Unblemished
Young and
Innocent
But damned
So damned
The wicked
Woman knew
Smiled and knew
“This is what you want”
Hands her the
Apple, poisoned
And red
No one knew
That Snow White
Knew, knew
The Truth
No one
Suspects her
Not Snow White
Pure, perfect
Snow White
“Mirror… Mirror…”
A brush bristles
Through her hair
Snow White looks
At her reflection
In the Mirror
Her mirror
The Wicked
Woman’s mirror
Snow White’s
Image smiles
Sadly at her
No hope left
“On the wall…”
He comes in
Princely in
His ways
Snow White does
Not look at
Him, not at him
Oh no
She cannot
She resents him
It is not apples
That are poisoned
But lips
“Snow…? ”
Without words
She undresses
Revealing glorious
Pale body
His to touch
Snow White
Watches his hands
Lower and closes
Her eyes
This is not love
Love is not—
Love is
“Seven little men…”
She falls into the
Dark corners of
Her mind
Where poison
Still chokes her
And there is
Nothing but
Death and silence
Oh, for the silence
Snow White turns
To look at The Mirror
And asks:
“Who is fairest of them all? ”
poem by Elizabeth Rebel
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The Unemployed
It was dark when I got home
Back from another frustrating day of job hunting
My wife was in the kitchen preparing tea
I could hear soccer fans on TV.
I had tea in silence;
Presence lost to one of those frustrating days
of present and clear danger,
redundancies, unemployment, credit crunch…
what a wasted day; I thought,
I could feel my wife watching me through my minds eye
Reading all the frustration through the lines on my fore head.
Things will be fine', she said;
I know', I mumbled
Honestly, I don’t
I finished my tea,
Hustled my used frame to the kitchen to wash up
As the house rules stipulates
Looking through the kitchen window
I watched as snowflakes falls from the sky
Each makes up a piece of a puzzle
In time, the garden was carpeted in white
Amazing; I mused
Just like a good poem.
poem by Chika Nwokeoma
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A Canadian Snow Fall
Come to the casement, we’ll watch the snow
Softly descending on earth below,
Fairer and whiter than spotless down
Or the pearls that gleam in a monarch’s crown,
Clothing the earth in its robe’s bright flow;
Is it not lovely—the pure white snow?
See, as it falls o’er the landscape wide,
How kindly it seeks all blots to hide,
Shrouding each black, unsightly nook,
The miry banks of the little brook,
Robing bare branches in ermine white,
Making all lovely, spotless and bright.
In the farm-yard see with what magic skill
Its marvels of beauty it works at will:
The well-house now is a fairy hall,
And the rough, rude fence is a marble wall;
While gates and hillocks where barn fowl ranged
To ramparts and bastions now are changed.
How softly it falls—nor breath, nor sound,
Though four feet high it should pile the ground,
Though it change the face of wood and field,
With skill that no mortal could ever wield;
Yet, as it falls, not a murmur low—
The noiseless, silent, white-winged snow!
See, in the rays of the morning bright,
How it blushes beneath the sun’s red light;
How its diamond crystals gleam and shine,
Clearer than those of Golconda’s mine;
Though the wintry winds may with anger blow,
Surely all love the beautiful snow.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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A Small Elegy
My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep.
Outside, it's as dark as pitch.
I'm saying words to myself, words that are white
in the lamplight and when I'm half-asleep I begin
to think about my mother. Autumnal recollection.
Really, under the cover of winter, it's as if I know
everything---even what my mother is doing now.
She's at home in the kitchen. She has a small child's stove
toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,
she has a small child's stove, the sort nobody uses today, but
she basks in its heat. Mother. My diminutive mom.
She sits quietly, hands folded, and thinks about
my father, who died years ago.
And then she is skinning fruit for me. I am
in the room. Sitting right next to her. You've got to see us,
God, you bully, who took so much. How
dark it is outside! What was I going to say?
Oh, yes, now I remember. Because
of all those hours I slept soundly, through calm
nights, because of all those loved ones who are deep
in dreams---Now, when everything's running short,
I can't stand being here by myself. The lamplight's too strong.
I am sowing grain on the headland.
I will not live long.
poem by Jirí Orten
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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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Ice & Snow
People never tell of ice
Or the snow that glitters nice
Or of the icy crunchy snow
Of that most people do not know
The crunch that sounds beneath your feet
As your sole and ice compete
When in the morning as you wake
You see a single white snow flake
You look out of the iced window
The look out seems so very low
Because the snow fell all night
It has left behind its sheet of white
poem by Helen Windass
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As The Snow Falls (song)
As the rain falls down,
It turns to snow.
As the snow falls down,
It hits the ground.
You look outside,
And it’s a sheet of white.
So you think,
Oh what a beautiful night.
The fire is warm,
And the coco too.
And you wonder,
What is next to do?
Looking outside,
All you see is white,
And stars in the sky…ayyy.
The stars are falling,
The stars are falling,
And they cover the ground.
The snow has fallen,
Snow has fallen,
And it covers the ground.
You sit there,
Lookin’ out your window,
Sippin’ on your coco. Oh
Watching as the rain falls down-
The snow falls down-
The stars fall down.
And you see,
All of natures beauty.
The rain falls down,
And it turns to snow.
The snow falls down,
And it hits the ground.
Lookin’ outside,
And it’s a sheet of white.
you bundle up,
and step outside.
standing in the cold,
you look around.
its all so calm and still.
Oh there’s not a single sound.
It’s a silent night,
Oh what a sight.
Snow covers the trees,
So beautiful to see.
Back inside you go
To the fire you stand,
With coco in hand.
You’re cozy and warm,
All alone.
It’s getting late,
So you sleep the night away.
As the rain fell down,
It turned to snow.
As the snow fell down,
It hit the ground.
And the sheet of white,
It disappeared.
The next day you wake,
And the beauty is gone.
The morning sun,
Thawed the lawn.
And the snowy wondrous night is done.
poem by Tessa Monaghan
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My Winter Freedom
Freedom across all oceans and skies
Looking through a window into white
Into a glassy, cold terrain
I see my winter freedom
Into the mountains and pass the bare trees
I see my winter freedom
Pass the snow white roads and trees full of mysteries
Comes the joy of the first snow
The innocent breeze across your face
The endless walk into the night
Gazing across the sky at the night’s moon
To the morning sun across the horizon
Reflecting off the glassy ice and foggy mountain tops
Seeing and breathing in the first days of winter
But mostly…
Believing
In the wonders and joys of
Your Winter Freedom
poem by Rachel Pedroza
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Winters advance...
In the dark of night the wind do'th blow,
Through the hills and the drifting snow.
The branches of an oak tree sigh and creek,
Raised above that silent snowy sheet.
Winter snowflakes soon come dancing,
As the winter storm it is advancing.
At first a few, but then so many,
When at first there were not any.
Engulfing a wintery slumbering earth,
In a snowy cotton across her girth.
Fashioning a crystal white snowy gown,
Woven from the whitest down.
Now covered in her pure white sheet,
Our mother earth has gone to sleep.
Her yearly rest forever taken,
When spring time comes she shall awaken...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Snow Fall in the Moonlight
Snow fall in the moonlight,
Like soft cotton falling from the sky,
Covering the ground and bushes in pure white,
Glowing beautifully in the night of December.
Snow fall in the moonlight,
Like a child I walked happily through the pure white snow,
Making soft crackling sound in the silent winter night,
When I reached the far end of the open field,
I turned to see the path I had taken,
A straight line through the pure white snow.
Snow fall in the moonlight,
Can there be a more beautiful sight than this?
As I look into the night sky,
And the soft snow flakes touches my face,
I breathe the fresh cold air of the winter night.
As I stood alone in silence, stillness in the air,
My feeling and longing comes to my lips,
And I thank Allah for this beautiful moment,
A chance to see snow fall in the moonlight!
(In memory of Belgian winter,1986)
poem by Spiritual Seeker
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Whipping Something In My Kitchen
When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.
Using the mind all the time,
Is a 'burning-out-of-mind' doer.
And I had been done...
To be 'done' to do that over again!
With a winning of 'anything' as a destination.
I longer deliver to myself those messages.
When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.
And do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
Or do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
Using the mind all the time,
Is a 'burning-out-of-mind' doer.
And I had been done...
To be 'done' to do that over again!
With a 'I Have To Win' attitude.
I longer deliver to myself those messages.
When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.
And do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
Or do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me.
I wish you could see me,
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me.
I wish you could see me,
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me.
I wish you could see me,
Right now!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Winter Song (From, Lost Song Poems)
There's outside a winter's song
With frore and grayish earth,
We had the summer for so long
For what each day was worth;
I'll long for summer and spring
Each time the night gets cold,
When weather hollowly will sing
In winter so frosty and bold.
A flower so gracefully done
The winter's rose in my window,
I'll greet you gladly on and on
Cherish your pearl white afterglow;
I've often been in a moody down
When darker the short day comes,
Then I see frosty rose jewel crown
And know in the cold it blooms.
Winter romance and candle lights
Longing for green sweet earth,
Longing for clearings sky bright
And all what the day young's worth;
How can it touch the morning flame
The winter that's gray and dark,
Will not each color be there same
Without its golden morning spark.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Strong Chill Of Winter
A strong chill of winter
has grasped this country,
the toll of its bitter cold
has the ground covered
in a blanket of thick snow
the fog is lingering over
the thick blanket of snow
dragging down the hope
that the snow is going
to go
in a desprete gaze
i looked out into
the haze of white
but i all i got to see
was the endless amount
of white
poem by Shane Nolan
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Taking Time
i tried to ask myself what are days for
they always equate it with walking and the nights
always with sleep. Some have taken the courage
to redefine the colors.
black need not be dark, and white need
not be waking,
sleep would be pink at times
and twilight blue.
i do most of the thinking at night
when everyone hides in the darkness of their sleep.
there are colors and sounds and scents.
and i begin to love the variations,
the aberrations have become adventures
and no one in the house knows
no one understands what is happening to my
eyelids, my mouth does not speak
and my eyes,
having seen much, have desired days
to be the place for the dead,
the white mausoleums, the scents of the flowers
for the weary.
i sleep and dream at noontime and
nobody is there anymore to
mind. I am alone and i have began to love
this moment.
my day is dark. my night is light.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Simplocity appeals to me for M lady Catrina
All I can see from my window.
A vast expanse of fallen snow,
Unmarked as yet by wheel or feet
As perfect as a laundered sheet.
Reflecting back the pale moonlight
in shades of silver blue and white.
This will not last it cannot do
it will marred by tyre and shoe.
At first light when the morning breaks
and all the sleeping world awakes
To make their way reluctantly
to office shop and factory.
Although the falling snow has stopped
the temperature still has not dropped
The snow will turn from white to gray
and very slowly melt away
Just for tonight the pristine white
will satisfy my appetite
for unadorned simplicity
There’s beauty in austerity.
22-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Cerulean Winter’s Dim Dyes
Amber summer sky
Is now gone to winter's day
With its time of morning high
And moods of summer’s play
Those feelings that came along
In the days breaking clear
With the singing of a forest song
In the heat of springtime year
Now here is deepness dark
With its intermittently starry night
And twinkling's assemblies spark
With instants in northern light
Winter’s frost loneliness snow
Conveying some twilight’s spin
Emptiness in its airstream blow
From the lowest point of within
Cerulean winter’s dim dyes
Reflecting moods of nighttime
Through distracting ice-cold cries
In the piercing chilliness rime
Every day’s like an evening burn
Reflecting the departed days
Bringing on yesterday’s yearn
On to its copious shading plays
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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