I wish one
could press snowflakes
in a book
~James Schuyler from “February 13, 1975”
…Then how his muffled armies move in all night
And we wake and every road is blockaded
Every hill taken and every farm occupied
And the white glare of his tents is on the ceiling.
And all that dull blue day and on into the gloaming
We have to watch more coming.
Then everything in the rubbish-heaped world
Is a bridesmaid at her miracle.
Dunghills and crumbly dark old barns are bowed in the chapel of her sparkle.
The gruesome boggy cellars of the wood
Are a wedding of lace
Now taking place.
~Ted Hughes from “Snow and Snow”
The grief it feels…
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow from “Snow-flakes”
On winter afternoons —
That oppresses, like the Heft
of cathedral tunes.
Shadows hold their breath —
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death.
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
~Wallace Stevens from “The Snow Man”
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
~Robert Frost from “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”