Come, come thou bleak December wind,
And blow the dry leaves from the tree!
~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Above the marge of night a star still shines,
And on the frosty hills the sombre pines
Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth low
Over the glimmering wastes of virgin snow.
~ Lucy Maud Montgomery
On this bleary white afternoon,
are there fires lit up in heaven
against such fading of quickness
and light, such windy discoursing?
~ Edwin Honig
It is hard to hear the north wind again,
And to watch the treetops, as they sway.
~ Wallace Stevens
"The melancholy
days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere."
~ William Cullen Bryant
How cold it is! Even the lights are cold;
They have put shawls of fog around them, see!
What if the air should grow so dimly white
That we would lose our way along the paths
Made new by walls of moving mist receding
The more we follow.
~ Sara Teasdale
White sky, over the hemlocks bowed with snow,
Saw you not at the beginning of evening the antlered buck and his doe
Standing in the apple-orchard? I saw them. I saw them suddenly go,
Tails up, with long leaps lovely and slow,
Over the stone-wall into the wood of hemlocks bowed with snow.
Now he lies here, his wild blood scalding the snow.
How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers
The buck in the snow.
How strange a thing--a mile away by now, it may be,
Under the heavy hemlocks that as the moments pass
Shift their loads a little, letting fall a feather of snow--
Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.
~ Edna St. Vincent Millay
