Snow
Look up . . .
From bleakening hills
Blows down the light, first breath
Of wintry wind . . . look up, and scent
The snow!
Poems about winter and snow
Winter poems about the first snow, frosty mornings, and the soft light of short days.
Catches the exact moment of sensing the first snow through wind and darkening hills, before it arrives
Velvet Shoes
Let us walk in the white snow
In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
At a tranquil pace,
Under veils of white lace.
I shall go shod in silk,
And you in wool,
White as a white cow's milk,
More beautiful
Than the breast of a gull.
We shall walk through the still town
In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
Upon silver fleece,
Upon softer than these.
We shall walk in velvet shoes:
Immerses in the pristine whiteness and soft silence of walking through fresh snow, evoking pure cleanliness
Snow
Hills that were dark
At sparing-time last night
Now in the dawn-ring
Glimmer cold and white.
Shows how snow washes familiar dark hills into glimmering white at dawn, a transformation to cleanness
Snowfall
Enchantment on the river
And magic on the lake,
The world has turned to crystal,
Don't speak or it will break!
The road seems new, the valley
An unfamiliar place,
Where trees are trimmed with spangles
And stones with silver lace.
A pink and white, furred rabbit
With a star-tuft for a tail,
Hops up the hill by moonlight
And leaves a fairy trail.
I think we mar the meadow
So white, and smooth as suede,
We ought to shine in satin
Or glitter in brocade.
Frames the snow-covered world as a crystal enchantment where even footmarks mar the perfect white
First Snow on the Hills
The hills kneel in a huddled group,
Like camels of the caravan,
And winter piles upon their patient backs
Its snows.
And through the desert of long nights and days
I think I see them stepping — stepping —
In misty file.
Toward the green land of Spring!
Sees the snow-laden hills as a patient white caravan moving toward spring, blending whiteness with renewal
To One Coming North
At first you’ll joy to see the playful snow,
Like white moths trembling on the tropic air,
Or waters of the hills that softly flow
Gracefully falling down a shining stair.
And when the fields and streets are covered white
And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw,
Or underneath a spell of heat and light
The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw,
Like me you’ll long for home, where birds’ glad song
Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry,
And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong,
Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.
Shows first joy in the white snow shifting to a deeper longing that lingers after the clean whiteness
Quatrains 2
How strange that grass should sing--
Grass is so still a thing....
And strange the swift surprise of snow
So soft it falls and slow.
Captures the soft, still surprise of snow's silent fall over a quiet world
Winter
Clouded with snow
The cold winds blow,
And shrill on leafless bough
The robin with its burning breast
Alone sings now.
The rayless sun,
Day's journey done,
Sheds its last ebbing light
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.
Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.
An unearthly white landscape at day's end, still and vast under the floating moon
A December Day
Dawn turned on her purple pillow
And late, late came the winter day,
Snow was curved to the boughs of the willow,
The sunless world was white and grey.
At noon we heard a blue-jay scolding,
At five the last thin light was lost
From snow-banked windows faintly holding
The feathery filigree of frost.
A day wrapped in snow's curved quiet and fading light, where the world holds its breath
Snows
Now the long-bearded chilly-fingered winter
Over the green fields sweeps his cloak and leaves
Its whiteness there. It caught on the wild trees,
Shook whiteness on the hedges and left bare
South-sloping corners and south-fronting smooth
Barks of tall beeches swaying 'neath their whiteness
So gently that the whiteness does not fall.
The ash copse shows all white between gray poles,
The oaks spread arms to catch the wandering snow.
But the yews--I wondered to see their dark all white,
To see the soft flakes fallen on those grave deeps,
Lying there, not burnt up by the yews' slow fire.
Could Time so whiten all the trembling senses,
The youth, the fairness, the all-challenging strength,
Measures how snow-like time blankets the earth with pure white while thought stays evergreen
Deep Snow
Powder
Of diamond
Upon a silver birch;
Old stone wall
Buried deep.
And you ...
A scarlet bird
Whose wild wings flutter here
Against my soul. How still
The world!
The diamond snow and buried stone echo the world's clean stillness, while the scarlet bird adds a wild, contrasting flutter
Winter
I shall have winter now and lessening days,
Lit by a smoky sun with slanting rays,
And after falling leaves, the first determined frost.
The colors of the world will all be lost.
So be it; the faint buzzing of the snow
Will fill the empty boughs,
And after sleet storms I shall wake to see
A glittering glassy plume of every tree.
Nothing shall tempt me from my fire-lit house,
And I shall find at night a friendly ember
And make my life of what I can remember.
Accepts the loss of color with a quiet calm, finding solace in the frosted stillness and a fire-lit retreat
Snow Storm
What a night! The wind howls, hisses, and but stops
To howl more loud, while the snow volley keeps
Incessant batter at the window pane,
Making our comfort feel as sweet again;
And in the morning, when the tempest drops,
At every cottage door mountainous heaps
Of snow lie drifted, that all entrance stops
Untill the beesom and the shovel gain
The path, and leave a wall on either side.
The shepherd rambling valleys white and wide
With new sensations his old memory fills,
When hedges left at night, no more descried,
Are turned to one white sweep of curving hills,
And trees turned bushes half their bodies hide.
The boy that goes to fodder with surprise
Walks oer the gate he opened yesternight.
Transforms the snowstorm into a backdrop for cozy comfort and a child's joyful, cautious play in the deep white
Falling Snow
The snow whispers about me.
And my wooden clogs
Leave holes behind me in the snow.
But no one will pass this way-
Seeking my footsteps.
And when the temple bell rings again
They will be covered and gone.
Captures the quiet erasure of footprints in falling snow, a gentle meditation on impermanence
Winter Song
The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.
From off your face, into the winds of winter,
The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing;
But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing,
And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.
Sees the pale snow as a spiritual gleam, a tender beauty replacing summer's warmth
The Snow that never drifts --
The Snow that never drifts --
The transient, fragrant snow
That comes a single time a Year
Is softly driving now --
So thorough in the Tree
At night beneath the star
That it was February's Foot
Experience would swear --
Like Winter as a Face
We stern and former knew
Repaired of all but Loneliness
By Nature's Alibit --
Were every storm so spice
The Value could not be --
We buy with contrast -- Pang is good
As near as memory --
Contrasts the rare, clean snow with the ache of memory, showing how beauty gains value from loss
A Calendar of Sonnets: January
O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter's own release.
Finds inner warmth and resilience in the white, untrodden snow, embracing winter's quiet release
Ode Written On The First Of December
Tho' now no more the musing ear
Delights to listen to the breeze
That lingers o'er the green wood shade,
I love thee Winter! well.
Sweet are the harmonies of Spring,
Sweet is the summer's evening gale,
Pleasant the autumnal winds that shake
The many-colour'd grove.
And pleasant to the sober'd soul
The silence of the wintry scene,
When Nature shrouds her in her trance
Not undelightful now to roam
The wild heath sparkling on the sight;
Not undelightful now to pace
The forest's ample rounds;
And see the spangled branches shine,
Finds serene beauty in the pristine wintry scene and the hope of spring beneath the white shroud
Helga
The wishes on this child's mouth
Came like snow on marsh cranberries;
The tamarack kept something for her;
The wind is ready to help her shoes.
The north has loved her; she will be
A grandmother feeding geese on frosty
Mornings ; she will understand
Early snow on the cranberries
Better and better then.
Snow on cranberries carries northern blessings and promises of simple, frosty wisdom to come
In the Train
FIELDS beneath a quilt of snow
From which the rocks and stubble peep,
And in the west a shy white star
That shivers as it wakes from sleep.
The restless rumble of the train,
The drowsy people in the car,
Steel blue twilight in the world,
And in my heart a timid star.
Snowy fields and a shy white star mirror a timid inner hope stirring under twilight's clean quiet
Trees in Winter
Pine-Trees :
Black clouds slowly swaying
Over a white earth.
Hemlocks :
Coned green shadows
Through a falling veil.
Elm-Trees :
Stiff black threads
Lacing over silver.
Cedars :
Layered undulations
Roofing naked ground.
Almonds :
Flaring needles
Stabbing at a grey sky.
Weeping Cherries:
Transforms snow-clad trees into stark, sculptural forms of white and shadow — the world washed clean to its monochrome essence
A Winter Bluejay
Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced,
Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
Across the lake the skaters
Flew to and fro,
With sharp turns weaving
A frail invisible net.
In ecstasy the earth
Drank the silver sunlight;
In ecstasy the skaters
Drank the wine of speed;
In ecstasy we laughed
Drinking the wine of love.
Had not the music of our joy
Bright snow whispering underfoot and a fearless bluejay crown a scene of exhilarating winter freshness
In snow thou comest --
In snow thou comest --
Thou shalt go with the resuming ground,
The sweet derision of the crow,
And Glee's advancing sound.
In fear thou comest --
Thou shalt go at such a gait of joy
That man anew embark to live
Upon the depth of thee.
Snow arrives as a clean slate whose melting releases glee and a courage to begin anew
The Red House
On the wide fields the water gleams like snow,
And snow like water pale beneath pale sky,
When old and burdened the white clouds are stooped low.
Sudden as thought, or startled near bird's cry,
The whiteness of first light on hills of snow
New dropped from skiey hills of tumbling white
Streams from the ridge to where the long woods lie;
And tall ridge-trees lift their soft crowns of white
Above slim bodies all black or flecked with snow.
By the tossed foam of the not yet frozen brook
Black pigs go straggling over fields of snow;
The air is full of snow, and starling and rook
Are blacker amid the myriad streams of light.
Warm as old fire the Red House burns yet bright
First light on new snow lights a remembered house that glows warm and defiant in the white quiet
Snow flakes.
Snow flakes.
I counted till they danced so
Their slippers leaped the town,
And then I took a pencil
To note the rebels down.
And then they grew so jolly
I did resign the prig,
And ten of my once stately toes
Are marshalled for a jig!
Snowflakes dancing so carefree they turn crisp, first-snow wonder into a surrender to jolly play
The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
A mind of winter that sees the white landscape as silence and emptiness, not comfort
A Lady to Her Lover
The white snows of Winter
Follow the falling of leaves ;
Therefore
I have had your portrait cut
In snow-white jade.
Snow-white jade preserves love against winter's decay, turning first snow into permanence
Winter-Time
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Frosty mornings and snowy sledding turn the world into a clean, magical playground
Snow in October
Today I saw a thing of arresting poignant beauty:
A strong young tree, brave in its Autumn finery
Of scarlet and burnt umber and flame yellow,
Bending beneath a weight of early snow,
Which sheathed the north side of its slender trunk,
And spread a heavy white chilly afghan
Over its crested leaves.
Yet they thrust through, defiant, glowing,
Claiming the right to live another fortnight,
Clamoring that Indian Summer had not come,
Crying “Cheat! Cheat!” because Winter had stretched
Long chill fingers into the brown, streaming hair
Of fleeing October.
The film of snow shrouded the proud redness of the tree,
As premature grief grays the strong head
Of a virile, red-haired man.
Early snow cloaks autumn's last colors, capturing the shock of white before the season is ready
Woods in Winter
When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.
O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.
Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.
Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.
Walks through bare, snowy woods find a wild music in the chill that brings comfort
Snow at Sea
Silently fell
The snow on the waters
In the grey dusk
Of the winter evening:
Swirling and falling,
Sucked into the oily
Blue-black surface
Of the sea.
We pounded on slowly;
From our bows sheeted
A shuddering mass of heavy foam:
Night closed about us,
But ere we were darkened,
We saw close in
A great gaunt schooner
Beating to southward.
Snow's silent fall over the sea mirrors the pristine stillness of a fresh winter scene
After a Storm
You walk under the ice trees.
They sway, and crackle.
And arch themselves splendidly
To deck your going.
The white sun flips them into colour
Before you.
They are blue.
And mauve.
And emerald.
They are amber.
And jade.
And sardonyx.
They are silver fretted to flame
And startled to stillness.
Bunched, splintered, iridescent.
You walk under the ice trees
The luminous ice trees and creaking snow capture the dazzling clarity of a world made new
First Communion
The little clouds are all in white
To-day :
They kneel at God's high blue altar
To receive the moon.
White clouds kneeling before a blue altar evoke the pure, clean spirit of new snow
Twelve Hokku on a Canadian Theme 6
Snow-shoes: like strong wings
Bound on the feet of victors
Conquering snow-fields.
Snowshoes as wings over untouched fields speak to the exhilarating purity of a snowy expanse
A little Snow was here and there
A little Snow was here and there
Disseminated in her Hair --
Since she and I had met and played
Decade had gathered to Decade --
But Time had added not obtained
Impregnable the Rose
For summer too indelible
Too obdurate for Snows --
A few flurries in the hair hint at the first snow that signals change yet preserves inner whiteness
There Was a Cherry-Tree
There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows
Cool even now the fevered sight that knows
No more its airy visions of pure joy --
As when you were a boy.
There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay sat
His blue against its white -- O blue as jet
He seemed there then!-- But now -- Whoever knew
He was so pale a blue!
There was a cherry-tree -- our child-eyes saw
The miracle:-- Its pure white snows did thaw
Into a crimson fruitage, far too sweet
But for a boy to eat.
There was a cherry-tree, give thanks and joy!--
There was a bloom of snow -- There was a boy --
There was a bluejay of the realest blue --
And fruit for both of you.
Snow blossoms on a cherry tree capture the pristine whiteness and evoke the clean, pure joy of a child's first sight
To a Mocking-Bird
I was asleep, dreaming that I could see
The north hills bowed and burdened with the snow,
And the grey-bearded river old and slow,
And the sick silences on vine and tree —
When in upon my loneliness and me
Light rushed, and sweetness tumbled down as though
Windows had opened for white hands to throw
Roses and roses from a balcony.
Oh Bird, imperious for happiness,
For moments gold as arrows in the air,
I am the only dark in all daybreak!
Let loose your avalanche of loveliness
Over my heart, until I am aware
How long I sleep — and sing me wide awake !
Snow-covered hills in a dream contrast with a rush of light and roses, shattering winter's grey stillness
Swedes
THEY have taken the gable from the roof of clay
On the long swede pile. They have let in the sun
To the white and gold and purple of curled fronds
Unsunned. It is a sight more tender-gorgeous
At the wood-corner where Winter moans and drips
Than when, in the Valley of the Tombs of Kings,
A boy crawls down into a Pharaoh's tomb
And, first of Christian men, beholds the mummy,
God and monkey, chariot and throne and vase,
Blue pottery, alabaster, and gold.
But dreamless long-dead Amen-hotep lies.
This is a dream of Winter, sweet as Spring.
White and gold fronds under a snow pile reveal a hidden, clean beauty that outshines the dead of winter
Winter Sun
There was a bush with scarlet berries
And there were hemlocks heaped with snow;
With a sound like surf on long sea-beaches
They took the wind and let it go.
The hills were shining in their samite,
Fold after fold they flowed away--
“Let come what may,” your eyes were saying,
“At least we two have had to-day.”
Hemlocks heaped with snow and shining hills frame a moment of clean, frozen beauty shared between lovers
Night
Night like purple flakes of snow
Falls with ease
Catching on the roofs of houses
In the tops of trees
Down upon the distant grass
And the distant flower
It will drift into this room
In an hour....
Night falls like purple snow, blanketing roofs and trees in a clean, quiet hush that drifts indoors
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