THE POETRY OF WINTER. WINTER. SEE! Winter comes, to rule the varied year, Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, When nursed by careless solitude I lived, And sung of nature with unceasing joy, Pleased have I wandered through your rough domain; Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure. THOMSON. FARM-YARD IN WINTER. WHEN now, unsparing as the scourge of war, FARM-YARD IN WINTER. When pressing round him, eager for the prize, Though night approaching bids for rest prepare, 113 There views the white-robed clouds in clusters driven, And all the glorious pageantry of Heaven. |