Snow is a bit of a novelty for those of us who live in more Southerly climes. So it was with a child‐like wonder that we woke to ice and snow coating every branch and twig this morning. The garden seemed full of ice sculptures and the gentle quiet of the snow still falling felt magical.
And unbidden, a poem came into my mind that I had learnt at junior school in the UK:
And unbidden, a poem came into my mind that I had learnt at junior school in the UK:
"Snow" by Walter de la Mare:
No breath of wind, no gleam of sun,
Still the white snow whirls softly down.
Twig and bough and blade and thorn,
All in an icy quiet, forlorn.
Still the white snow whirls softly down.
Twig and bough and blade and thorn,
All in an icy quiet, forlorn.
Whispering, rustling, through the air,
On sill and stone roof – everywhere,
It heaps its powdery crystal flakes,
Of every tree a mountain makes;
On sill and stone roof – everywhere,
It heaps its powdery crystal flakes,
Of every tree a mountain makes;
‘Til pale and faint at shut of day,
Stoops from the West one wint’ry ray,
And, feathered in fire where ghosts the moon,
A robin shrills his lonely tune;
Stoops from the West one wint’ry ray,
And, feathered in fire where ghosts the moon,
A robin shrills his lonely tune;
And from her dark‐gnarled Yew‐tree lair
Flits she who had been in hiding there.
Happy Winter Knitting!
Moira
Flits she who had been in hiding there.
Happy Winter Knitting!
Moira
 | Last Blogpost: Snow gently falling Next Up: A scarf for the end of winter Our book: Reversible Knitting Stitches My Website: www.wyndlestrawdesigns.com Many thanks to my husband, Tim, for his photos which so beautifully captured the day. If you would like to see more of his photos please visit his Flickr page. |
Keywords: Notes & Travels,
snow, winter, poem, poetry, Massachusetts, MA, USA,
snow, winter, poem, poetry, Massachusetts, MA, USA,
