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Daniel Whitehead Hicky, snow, in English Clear filters

DreamyDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Winter Night

Only the young will brave the snow And catch the flakes and watch them go In swirling patterns up and down The length and breadth of all the town. Only the young can laugh to see White, sudden blossoms on a tree That were not there an hour ago, Or lift their hearts to see the snow Reach out its hand and turn the night Into a wonderland of white. The old will rise and turn the lock When frozen fists of snowflakes knock Upon the pane, along the sill, And break the pine trees on the hill. The old will draw the curtains tight And have no traffic with the night;
RomanticDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Hyacinths

You brought me hyacinths when there was no spring, And snow lay like a white prayer on the world. Warm blue they were, the color of seas that sing Small broken songs where sunlit tides are curled With all the passion of a lover’s hands, And I could read deep in your eyes of gray The silent thundering love understands, And all the shining words you could not say. Others have brought me light within their eyes, Others have lain their hands upon mine here, But with your hyacinths there blossomed skies Where no cloud was, and sunlight shimmered clear. Pressed now within a book, these hyacinths hold The love you brought me from the blinding cold.
AnxiousDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Snow Hill at Sunset

After the last swift flakes of snow had sighed A casual frozen sigh and died away, The sun broke through the clouds’ last thawing tide And smiled a little smile half gold, half gray, Then shone again but for a moment only. Then all was gray once more, until beyond The hill a redder sun, far off and lonely, Stared with a steady eye across the pond. The wind awoke again and stalked around, Stirring the snowfall where it tried to sleep, Then suddenly across that stretch of ground I saw more beauty than my eyes could keep— A hill of snow the color of disaster So red it reached along the frozen day, As though a stand of deer had met its master And in that scarlet moment was dragged away.
CheerfulDaniel Whitehead Hicky

The Skier

How silently, and with a feather’s grace He takes the blinding slopes of glittering ice, Now swift, now slow, now curving left or right Over the reaches of a world turned white, A sweep, a sigh, a surge of ecstasy, Downward, and on, a heart set suddenly free, Leaping and flowing, patterned like a rhyme, A bird of air, a moment loosed from Time . . .
ContemplativeDaniel Whitehead Hicky

A Snow So Wide

Whose prints these are across the snow I cannot say; I do not know. But journeying this path alone With silence on the heart like stone, I hope that I can overtake Him traveling through wind and flake, A lonely shadow in a night So brittle that it snaps with white Where fir and spruce and alder bend Beneath the fingers of the wind. I must catch him if I can And speak a word or two. No man Has eyes enough to witness all This blinding rush of petal-fall— A snow so deep, a snow so wide It takes a county in its stride,
ContemplativeDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Snowscape with Figures

No winter-sharpened stars hang in the sky. This is a night of snowfall and the black Thick darkness crowding branches of the trees. No sound awakes the silence but the crack Of hemlocks where the snow piles white and deep, And soon their music through the ice-thin air Drifts into quiet of the frozen shadows Until another branch breaks suddenly clear. But there are stars deep in the forest’s reaches Where small and furry and half-frightened things Search through the crystal night for sustenance, And stars shine in the branches where trembling wings Quiet as snowfall fold into the dark. Through all the woods, down every path I go, The eyes of hunger kindle in the night
ContemplativeDaniel Whitehead Hicky

December Night

Through all this frozen night there is no sound Save my white footsteps on a whiter ground, No stir up from the meadow, nor the brake Lost in the whitening wind beyond the lake. How soft the lamps come on, their sudden gold Shining from windows warming up the cold; How pale the trees, how bowed their branches down With loveliness men cannot see in town. But hush, and listen! Above this stretch of white, This swirl of snow that blinds me like a light, I hear a slow sound plain and high and far,— The wind’s cold fingers polishing a star.
SadDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Woods in Winter

Bare-breasted now and unashamed the wood Stands cold as stone against the quiet hour. Small eyes of rabbits, sharp with hunger’s search, Kindle brown grasses where the wind has stood Half frozen through a night of motionless birch. The imminence of snow, pale flake on flake, Locked in a cloud withholds its shining power Which in a moment’s space may stir and break. Not till the snow is gone, the bladed cold, Shall I return to these stripped woods again; Walking through silence here I seem to move In measured quiet among a thousand men Lashed by the whips of life, broken and old, Lonely as all men are bereft of love.
ContemplativeDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Snowfall After Dark

I could not tell by sound of wind Nor sighing of a single flake Against the pane that all the world Lay pale with snow in darkness’ wake, And sad am I that I was left Outside this secret of the night That turned a thousand blackened boughs Into a flowering of white. Since man has little time to learn Through springtime’s doubtful weather How tireless fingers of the sun Put apple blooms together, Had but the wind’s voice prompted me, Or hint of snowflake drifted through, I could have witnessed in an hour What April takes a month to do.

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