Winter Poetry

by Robert Frost (1923)


The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost (1923)


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"Have you ever noticed a tree standing naked against the sky,
How beautiful it is?
All its branches are outlined, and in its nakedness
There is a poem, there is a song.
Every leaf is gone and it is waiting for the spring.
When the spring comes, it again fills the tree with
The music of many leaves,
Which in due season fall and are blown away.
And this is the way of life."

- Krishnamurti

Winter Journey in the Harz (1777) Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

As the hawk aloft
On heavy daybreak cloud
Searching for prey,
May my song hover.

For a god has
duly to each
His path prefixed,
And the fortunate man
Runs fast and joyfully
To his journey's end;
But he whose heart
Misfortune constricted
Struggles in vain
To break from the bonds
Of the brazen thread
Which the shears, so bitter still,
Cut once alone.

Into grisly thickets
The rough beasts run,
And with the sparrows
The rich long since have
Sunk in their swamps.

Easy it is to follow that car
Which Fortune steers,
Like the leisurely troop that rides
The find highroads
Behind the array of the Prince.

But who is it stands aloof?
His path is lost in the brake,
Behind hime the shrubs
Close and he's gone,
Grass grows straight again,
The emptiness swallows him.

O who shall heal his agony then
In whom each balm turned poison,
Who drank hatred of man
From the very fullness of love?
First held now holding in contempt,
In secret he consumes
His own particular good
In selfhood unsated.

If in your book of songs
Father of love, there sounds
One note his ear can hear,
Refresh with it then his heart!
Open his clouded gaze
To the thousand fountainheads
About him as he thirsts
In the desert!

You who give joys that are manifold,
To each his overflowing share,
Bless the companions that hunt
On the spoor of the beasts
With young exuberance
Of glad desire to kill,
Tardy averngers of outrage
For so long repelled in vain
By the cudgeling countryman.

But hide the solitary man
In your sheer gold cloud!
Till roses flower again
Surround with winter-green
The moistened hair,
O love, of your poet!

With your lantern glowing
You light his way
Over the fords by night,
On impassable tracks
Through the void countryside;
With daybreak thousand-hued
Into his heart you laugh;
With the mordant storm
You bear him aloft;
Winter streams plunge from the crag
Into his songs,
And his altar of sweetest thanks

Is the snow-hung brow
Of the terrible peak
People in their imaginings crowned
With spirit dances.

You stand with heart unplumbed
Mysteriously revealed
Above the marveling world
And you look from clouds
On the kingdoms and magnificence
Which from your brothers' veins beside you
With streams you water.

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

Selected Poems, Christopher Middleton (Ed.)
"Harzreise im Winter" (A Winter Journey in the Harz")translated by Christopher Middleton



I enjoyed all of the poems you shared. And then I went out searching and found this by Goethe. Love it.

Thank you Sue for starting this thread, and thank you for your help posting this poem.

Winter is suddemly here.Everything is covered in snow.

Sincerely,
Gisele


Snow-flakes
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.


Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.


This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

Thank you for joining this thread.

Beautiful picture Margherita, thank you.
Your images are always breathtaking.



Lines: The cold earth slept below
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The cold earth slept below;
Above the cold sky shone;
And all around,
With a chilling sound,
From caves of ice and fields of snow
The breath of night like death did flow
Beneath the sinking moon.


The wintry hedge was black;
The green grass was not seen;
The birds did rest
On the bare thorn's breast,
Whose roots, beside the pathway track,
Had bound their folds o'er many a crack
Which the frost had made between.


Thine eyes glow'd in the glare
Of the moon's dying light;
As a fen-fire's beam
On a sluggish stream
Gleams dimly—so the moon shone there,
And it yellow'd the strings of thy tangled hair,
That shook in the wind of night.


The moon made thy lips pale, belov{e}d;
The wind made thy bosom chill;
The night did shed
On thy dear head
Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie
Where the bitter breath of the naked sky
Might visit thee at will.

WHITE SILENCE by Margrit Rueger


The morning air carries
the fragrance of snow,
sparkling white beauty
reflecting in my eyes.

I plunge into this softness
this myriad of snowflakes
each a masterpiece of design
beholding a vision of peace.

My footprints across the field
a friendly message to the sky.
I am embraced by the woods,
aware of my perfect solitude.

My breath the only sound,
I let beauty and silence
enter and expand within
and my heartbeats dance.

I need not ask any questions.
All answers resonate in my heart,
through the magnificence of nature
I hear the divine language of Love.

Surrounded by infinite purity
I stand in stillness and awe
to heaven I raise my voice,
whispering words of praise.

I touch upon the mystery of life
merging with the glittering light.
I am the snow, the sun, the sky
one with the Source, I shine.


Simon Beck's footprint art



Enjoyed all the contributions and remembered this one of mine ... how I love snow and winter landscapes!

Love,
Margherita

Thank you Margherita.
Your poem is very beautiful.

Love,
yoko



Painting in the Art gallery of Victoria

quote:

WHITE SILENCE by Margrit Rueger


The morning air carries
the fragrance of snow,
sparkling white beauty
reflecting in my eyes.

I plunge into this softness
this myriad of snowflakes
each a masterpiece of design
beholding a vision of peace.

My footprints across the field
a friendly message to the sky.
I am embraced by the woods,
aware of my perfect solitude.

My breath the only sound,
I let beauty and silence
enter and expand within
and my heartbeats dance.

I need not ask any questions.
All answers resonate in my heart,
through the magnificence of nature
I hear the divine language of Love.

Surrounded by infinite purity
I stand in stillness and awe
to heaven I raise my voice,
whispering words of praise.

I touch upon the mystery of life
merging with the glittering light.
I am the snow, the sun, the sky
one with the Source, I shine.

quote:

I touch upon the mystery of life
merging with the glittering light.
I am the snow, the sun, the sky
one with the Source, I shine.

Thank you Margherita for this sparkling gift.
It casts a bright light into eternity.

Thank you for the footprints in the snow.


Even the smallest of creatures are enjoying your beautiful song.
Unfortunately their feet are too tiny to leave footprints in the snow.



Love, Inda

Thank you for the beautiful winter poem Margherita.
Your words always touch me deeply.
Reading your poem makes winter quite enjoyable.

Love,
Gisele

Dear Margherita, thank you kindly for adding your beautiful poem to this thread. As Gisele mentioned, reading this brings back the joys of winter.

Love,
Sue

Thank you Margherita for your exquisite poem.
This is the loveliest one on this thread.
It is truly a classic.

Love,
Vicky



Robert Bateman

My dear girlfriends of givnology, thank you for your most loving comments on my humble contribution, though I have no right to be among the "classics" I thought it would fit in nicely.

Thank you so much! I so love Winter and snow, but when I lived back home in Switzerland I suffered from the cold, but I can't even begin to tell you how much I miss the beauty of those long gone winter seasons. They don't get as much snow as we got when I was a child and teenager. I remember my brother built snowhuts in our garden, which lasted for weeks and snowmen of course ...

May you all enjoy a magnificent Winter and Christmas time.


Trying to write a Winter haiku here and now ....


Snow falls silently

fluffy messenger of peace

pure magnificence



et voilà!





Love,
Margherita

This is pure beauty.
Thank you Margherita,
for another little gem.

quote:

Snow falls silently

fluffy messenger of peace

pure magnificence

Your lovely image reminds me of this; Vicky posted it a long time ago on Architectural structures.

quote:

Snow falls silently

fluffy messenger of peace

pure magnificence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



There are no more beautiful words that I can add to this.
Thank you kindly, Margherita.

Dear Margherita,

thank you for the beautiful little haiku.

Love,
Vicky



Robert Bateman

Thank you Margherita for the magnificent words.
Enjoy all the beauty of winter.

Love,
Sue

Thank you for bringing my attention to Margherita's beautiful haiku.

Thank you for sharing your writing Margherita,
and have a wonderful holiday season.

Love,
Gisele

Looking For a Sunset Bird in Winter
by Robert Frost


The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.

In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.

No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.

From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn't show.

A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.

Picture-Books in Winter by Robert Louis Stevenson
Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.

Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.

All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.

We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.

How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?

Winter Night


It snowed and snowed ,the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

As during summer midges swarm
To beat their wings against a flame
Out in the yard the snowflakes swarmed
To beat against the window pane

The blizzard sculptured on the glass
Designs of arrows and of whorls.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

Distorted shadows fell
Upon the lighted ceiling:
Shadows of crossed arms,of crossed legs-
Of crossed destiny.

Two tiny shoes fell to the floor
And thudded.
A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears
Upon a dress.

All things vanished within
The snowy murk-white,hoary.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

A corner draft fluttered the flame
And the white fever of temptation
Upswept its angel wings that cast
A cruciform shadow

It snowed hard throughout the month
Of February, and almost constantly
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

Boris Pasternak

Dust of Snow

by Robert Frost (1923)


The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

We have had a snow-free winter so far, but snow is here again.

Snow flakes. by Emily Dickinson
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!

The Snow that never drifts -- by Emily Dickinson


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 --

Looking For a Sunset Bird in Winter


The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.

In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.

No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.

From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn't show.

A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.

by Robert Frost

It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned.

Boris Pasternak
***************

In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

Christina G. Rossetti

Snow flakes. by Emily Dickinson
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!

Dust of Snow

by Robert Frost (1923)


The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Winter Heavens

George Meredith (1888)


Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive,
In swarms outrushing from the golden comb.
They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
The living throb in me, the dead revive.
Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath,
Life glistens on the river of the death.
It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt,
Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:
And this is the soul’s haven to have felt.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost (1923)


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

So much snow- but
A place for snow viewing?
There's nowhere to go.

Anonymous

“Winter solitude-
in a world of one colour
the sound of the wind.”
― Bashō

Thank you yoko for the lovely little poems and the beautiful images.
***********************************8

" Where in pale blue ranks arise
Alps that rim the mountain valley ;
Where above the crystal spring Blooms the snow-white apple-tree,
And in tracks of snow you see
Wild white roses blossoming ;
Where a stream begins its song
Like a wind-harp low and muffled,
Murmuring through the moss and stones;
Then among the alders moans,
Rushes out, involved and ruffled,
By a youthful impulse driven,
Foaming, till it reach the vale,
And, like David with his harp,
From a shepherd made a king
By the songs that it can sing,
Triumphs through the listening dale."

Norwegian

http://www.oldandsold.com/arti...hern-studies-1.shtml

These beautiful, deeply touching words were written by Margherita a few years ago.
Thank you.

Love,
yoko

quote:

I touch upon the mystery of life
merging with the glittering light.
I am the snow, the sun, the sky
one with the Source, I shine.

The hand of spring will unfold the secret of winter

Rumi

Sometimes I wonder, sweetest love, if you
Were a mere dream in along winter night,
A dream of spring-days, and of golden light
Which sheds its rays upon a frozen heart;

Rumi

It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.

~John Burroughs, "Winter Sunshine"

Like the seeds dreaming beneath the snow
your heart dreams of spring.

Kahlil Gibran

The winter river;down it come floatingflowers offered to Buddha.

Yosa Buson