Essence of Winter

A Collection of Photo Art by

David Favager

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Essence of WINTER

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First Published December 2017 Š D J Favager 2017

Front Cover: Churchyard in Winter Back Cover Top: Tree in a Winter Landscape

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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 Rossetti’s ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’

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Contents In Search of Winter page 7 Winter Landscapes page 12 Winter Villages page 40 Winter Churches page 74 Winter Moors page 122 Winter Trees page 148 Winter Fog page 176 Winter Festivals page 204 Winter Poems page 220

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In Search of Winter Winter solitude-in a world of one colour the sound of wind.

Basho But at sunset the clouds gathered again, bringing an earlier night, and the snow began to fall straight and steadily from a sky without wind, in a soft universal diffusion more confusing than the gusts and eddies of the morning. It seemed to be a part of the thickening darkness, to be the winter night itself descending on us layer by layer. Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton

‘In the bleak midwinter …’ The word ‘winter’ comes from a root meaning ‘water’ which might seem quite appropriate when the cold north winds blow in the rain storms mixed with sleet which bite through even the thickest coats. Winter, simply, is the coldest quarter of the year; it is a time of darkness, of long nights, short days, weak sunlight, cloud, wind, rain and snow. The last leaves have fallen from the trees which stand stark and seemingly dead against foreboding evening skies. Winter encourages us to wrap up against the chill in woollen scarves and thick jumpers, to take shelter beside a comforting open fire in a cosy nook, to warm ourselves with a spicy mulled cider and a mince pie and to dream of a summer which seems so far off. Even the animals seek shelter from the elements, many hibernate or migrate, they store up food and in some cases their fur turns white to offer camouflage against the monochrome landscape. The Winter Solstice, the day on which the night is the longest and after which slowly but surely light and life return to the world, is for some the start of the season but for most it is Midwinter’s Day, a special moment of the annual cycle since Neolithic times. Great stone monuments still testify to the importance that this day had – perhaps even more so than Midsummer as it was more truly a day to celebrate.

Winter Tree Marsh Lane, Storeton (distorted) Winter is rich in mythology. In Persia the winter solstice is called Yaldā (meaning birth) and it marked the birth of Mithra, who symbolised light, goodness and strength on earth. The Greek myths tell of Hades who kidnapped Persephone to be his wife and of how Persephone would spend six months with Demeter and six months with Hades. During the time her daughter is with Hades, Demeter became depressed and caused winter. In Welsh mythology, Gwyn ap Nudd abducted a maiden named Creiddylad. On May Day, her lover, Gwythr ap Greidawl, fought Gwyn to win her back. The battle between them represented the contest between summer and winter. Personifications of winter abound. Jack Frost is traditionally said to leave the frosty, fern-like patterns on windows on cold winter mornings and nipping the extremities in cold weather. He is sometimes described or depicted with paint brush and bucket colouring the autumnal foliage red, yellow, brown, and orange and sometimes he is portrayed as a dangerous giant. Ded Moroz (literally 7

‘Grandfather Frost’) is a Russian substitute of Santa Claus while Skaði is a goddess associated with bowhunting, skiing, winter, and mountains in Norse mythology. In China the Great Winter God is one of the Ba Jia Jiang responsible for the capture of ghosts and evil spirits, bringing safety and good luck, and providing protection; he wears a blue gown with painted tiger face. In the west Father Christmas and St Nicholas, merged into Santa Claus, have come to represent the jollity of the season.

Few of us welcome winter with the unalloyed sense of joy with which we can greet the other three seasons! As a medieval poet wrote: Winter awakens all my sorrow, now these leaves grow bare; often I sigh and mourn sorely when I come to think of this world’s joy, and how it all goes to nothing.

But despite the gloom we can also embrace winter for its unique beauty, not simply the stark beauty of death and decay but the beauty the pristine landscape on the perfect winter’s day after a fresh fall of snow has covered the roofs, trees and hillsides, transforming an ordinary scene into something out of fairyland.

The Garden in Winter by Lucy Maud Montgomery Frosty-white and cold it lies Underneath the fretful skies; Snowflakes flutter where the red Banners of the poppies spread, And the drifts are wide and deep Where the lilies fell asleep.

But the sunsets o'er it throw Flame-like splendor, lucent glow, And the moonshine makes it gleam Like a wonderland of dream, And the sharp winds all the day Pipe and whistle shrilly gay.

Christmas pudding (cubist) 8

To some extent in this country this ideal winter is a myth, a fantasy – the reality rarely lives up to the Christmas card image – but it remains a powerful myth and where it does not exist we feel obliged to manufacture it in Christmas markets with fake snow or to go abroad in search of the real thing. And so we have created winter festivals to chase away the misery.

The Romans had their Saturnalia in honour of Saturn held on the 17th December and expanded with festivities through to 23rd December, including sacrifice, a public banquet, private gift-giving, continual partying and a carnival. Yule or Yuletide was observed by pagan Germanic and Nordic peoples; the long-bearded god Odin bears the names jólfaðr (Old Norse for ‘Yule father’). Both Saturnalia and Yule have been transformed into our Christmas which in its modern form is as much pagan as it is Christian. In 567, the Council of Tours proclaimed the twelve days from Christmas to Epiphany as a sacred and festive season, and established the duty of Advent fasting in preparation for the feast. Christmastide commonly called the Twelve Days of Christmas, lasts 12 days, from 25th December to 5th January, the latter date being named as Twelfth Night.

Despite months of marketing overkill, only the most dedicated Scrooge can remain immune to the charm of Christmas – trees festooned with decorations, coloured lights, Father Christmas, reindeer, elves, snowmen, carol singers, cards, presents, roast turkey with trimmings, pudding with brandy sauce … Yet surely the real message of Christmas – pagan or Christian – transcends mere materialism, feasting and even ‘good will to all men’; it is the hope of rebirth and the truth of the Christmas story transcends any scepticism about mangers, shepherds, angels and wise men. The truth of myth is a deeper, more profound truth than the truth of history!

As Christmas fades in the memory and the winter days of January slip by, the days lengthen and February brings with it the (sometimes deceptive) hope of milder weather. The buds on the branches and the first daffodils herald the imminent arrival of spring and no one regrets the passing of another winter.

Christmas Tre in Chester Cathedral 9

To Winter by Claude McKay

Or circled by them as thy lips declare Some merry jest, or tale of murder dire, Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night, Pausing at times to rouse the mouldering fire, Or taste the old October brown and bright.

Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows!

There is a subtle sweetness in the sun, The ripples on the stream's breast gaily run, The wind more boisterously by me blows, And each succeeding day now longer grows.

The birds a gladder music have begun, The squirrel, full of mischief and of fun, From maples' topmost branch the brown twig throws.

I read these pregnant signs, know what they mean: I know that thou art making ready to go.

Oh stay! I fled a land where fields are green Always, and palms wave gently to and fro, And winds are balmy, blue brooks ever sheen, To ease my heart of its impassioned woe.

This collection of photographs, supplemented by some evocative poems, attempts to capture something of the essence of winter. Along with the original photographs are presented a number of interpretations in the abstract essentialist style which seeks to abstract the essence of the subject by techniques of digital distortion.

Unlike the vibrant colours of autumn winter is represented by whites, blues and greys with touches of green and red. It is perhaps more difficult to capture the essence of winter than it is with autumn but I hope you enjoy this book.

Winter by Robert Southey A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee, Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey As the long moss upon the apple-tree; Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp blue nose, Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.

They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth, Old Winter! seated in thy great armed chair, Watching the children at their Christmas mirth;

Graveyard on a Winter’s Day (crystal) 10

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Winter Landscapes

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To Winter by William Blake O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'

He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathиd In ribbиd steel; I dare not lift mine eyes, For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

Lo! now the direful monster, whose 1000 skin clings To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and in his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

He takes his seat upon the cliffs,--the mariner Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st With storms!--till heaven smiles, and the monster Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.

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Snowscape near Storeton 14

Fields near Storeton

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Red Hill Road, Storeton 16

Red Hill Road, Storeton (crystal) 17

Tree in a Snowy Landscape (crystal) 18

Winter Tree Marsh Lane, Storeton 19

Winter Tree Marsh Lane, Storeton (cubist) 20

Winter Tree Marsh Lane, Storeton (cubist) 21

Winter Tree Marsh Lane, Storeton (crystal) 22

Winter Tree Marsh Lane, Storeton (distorted) 23

Pillar Box, Storeton Woods 24

Pillar Box, Storeton Woods (cubist) 25

Pillar Box, Storeton Woods (distorted) 26

Snow in Storeton Woods

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Snow in Rest Hill Road (distorted)

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Snow in Rest Hill Road (crystal)

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Snow in Rest Hill Road (cubist)

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Park on a Snowy Morning 31

Park on a Snowy Day (cubist)

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Park on a Snowy Day (crystal & distorted) 33

The River Dee, Chester

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The River Dee, Chester (distorted)

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The Groves, Chester

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The Groves, Chester (distorted) 37

River Dee on a Snowy Day 38

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Winter Villages

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Winter Night by Boris Pasternak 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 legsOf crossed destiny.

Two tiny shoes fell to the floor And thudded.

A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears Upon a dress.

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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.

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Old Post Office, Port Sunlight 43

Old Post Office, Port Sunlight (crystal) 44

Old Post Office, Port Sunlight (distorted) 45

Old Post Office, Port Sunlight, Winter Sun 46

Old Post Office, Port Sunlight, Winter Sun (crystal) 47

Old Post Office, Port Sunlight, Winter Sun (distorted) 48

Lyceum in the Snow, Port Sunlight 49

Lyceum in the Snow, Port Sunlight (crystal) 50

Lyceum in the Snow, Port Sunlight (distorted) 51

Lyceum in the Snow, Port Sunlight (distorted) 52

Lyceum & Dell Bridge in the Snow, Port Sunlight 53

Lyceum & Dell Bridge in the Snow, Port Sunlight (crystal) 54

Lyceum & Dell Bridge in the Snow, Port Sunlight (distorted) 55

The Dell, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day 56

The Dell, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day (cubist) 57

The Dell, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day (distorted) 58

The Dell, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day 59

The Dell, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day (detail, distorted) 60

Lyceum and Bridge, Winter’s Day 61

Lyceum and Bridge, Winter’s Day (cubist) 62

Lyceum & Dell Bridge, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day 63

Lyceum & Dell Bridge, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day (cubist) 64

Lyceum & Dell Bridge, Port Sunlight, Winter’s Day (crystal) 65

Lower Bebington Village in the Snow

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Lower Bebington Village in the Snow (crystal)

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Lower Bebington Village in the Snow (distorted)

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Lower Bebington Village in the Snow (distorted) 2

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Cottage, Lower Bebington, in Snow 70

Cottage, Lower Bebington, in Snow (distorted)

Cottage, Lower Bebington, in Snow (crystal) 71

Cottage, Lower Bebington, Winter’s Day

Cottage, Lower Bebington, Winter’s Day (crystal) 72

Cottage, Lower Bebington, Winter’s Day (distorted) 73

Winter Churches

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Winter: A Dirge by Robert Burns The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw; Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw: While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae; And bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day.

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," The joyless winter day Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May: The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here firm I rest; they must be best, Because they are Thy will!

Then all I want-O do Thou grant This one request of mine!Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, Assist me to resign.

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Chester Cathedral in the Snow

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Chester Cathedral in the Snow (crystal)

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Chester Cathedral in the Snow (distorted)

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St Peter’s Church in the Snow

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Chester Cathedral in the Snow (crystal)

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Chester Cathedral in the Snow (distorted) 81

Chester Cross in the Snow

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Chester Cross in the Snow (crystal)

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Chester Cross in the Snow (distorted)

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Christ Church in the Snow 85

Christ Church in the Snow (crystal) 86

Christ Church in the Snow (distorted) 87

Christ Church, Winter’s Day

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Christ Church Winter’s Day (cubist)

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Churchyard on a Winter’s Day 90

Churchyard on a Winter’s Day (cubist) 91

Churchyard on a Winter’s Day (crystal) 92

Churchyard on a Winter’s Day (distorted) 93

Graveyard on a Winter’s Day 94

Graveyard on a Winter’s Day (cubist) 95

Graveyard on a Winter’s Day (distorted) 96

St Andrew’s Church Tower in Snow 97

St Andrew’s Church Tower in Snow (distorted) 98

St Andrew’s Church in Snow 99

St Andrew’s Church in Snow (crystal) 100

St Andrew’s Church in Snow (distorted) 101

St Andrew’s Church Porch in Snow

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St Andrew’s Church Porch in Snow (distorted)

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St Andrew’s Church in Snow from the South

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St Andrew’s Church in Snow from the South (distorted)

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St Andrew’s Church, Winter’s Day 106

St Andrew’s Church, Winter’s Day (cubist) 107

St Andrew’s Church, Winter’s Day (crystal) 108

St Andrew’s Church, Winter’s Day (distorted) 109

St Andrew’s Church, Winter’s Day (distorted) 110

St Andrew’s Church from the East, Winter’s Day 111

St Andrew’s Church from the East, Winter’s Day (crystal) 112

St Andrew’s Church from the East, Winter’s Day (crystal) 113

St Andrew’s Church from the East, Winter’s Day (distorted) 114

St Andrew’s Church from the East, Winter’s Day (distorted) 115

St Andrew’s Church Tower, Winter’s Day 116

St Andrew’s Church Tower, Winter’s Day (crystal) 117

St Andrew’s Church Tower, Winter’s Day (distorted) 118

Churchyard in the Snow

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Churchyard in the Snow (crystal)

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Churchyard in the Snow (distorted)

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Winter Moors

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Winter Trees by William Carlos Williams All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed!

A liquid moon moves gently among the long branches.

Thus having prepared their buds against a sure winter the wise trees stand sleeping in the cold.

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Reservoir, Winter’s Day (distorted) 124

Reservoir, Winter’s Day (distorted) 2 125

Devil’s Bridge 126

Devil’s Bridge (distorted) 127

Devil’s Bridge, Frosty Day 128

Devil’s Bridge, Frosty Day (distorted) 129

Devil’s Bridge, Frosty Day (distorted) 130

Devil’s Bridge, Frosty Day (crystal) 131

View towards Mottram 132

View towards Mottram (crystal) 133

View towards Mottram (crystal) 134

View towards Mottram (crystal) 135

Gate on the Moors

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Gate on the Moors (crystal)

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Gate on the Moors (distorted)

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Gate on the Moors (distorted)

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Moors with Pylon

Moors with Pylon (cubist) 140

Moors with Pylon (distorted)

Moors with Pylon (crystal) 141

Moors above Tintwistle

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Moors above Tintwistle (crystal)

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Moors above Tintwistle (distorted)

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Moors above Tintwistle (distorted)

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Moors above Tintwistle (distorted) 3

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Winter Trees

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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening BY Robert Frost 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.

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Trees on the Moors

Trees on the Moors (crystal) 150

Trees on the Moors (crystal)

Trees on the Moors (distorted) 151

Trees on the Moors (distorted) 152

Winter Trees at Dawn 153

Winter Trees at Dawn (cubist) 154

Winter Trees at Dawn (crystal) 155

Winter Trees at Dawn (crystal) 156

Winter Trees at Dawn (distorted) 157

Tree, Winter Dawn (distorted) 158

Tree, Winter Dawn (crystal) 159

Tree, Winter Dawn (distorted) 160

Tree, Winter Dawn (distorted) 161

Tree, Winter Dawn (distorted) 162

Tree, Grosvenor Park 163

Tree, Grosvenor Park (cubist) 164

Tree, Grosvenor Park (cubist) 165

Tree, Grosvenor Park (crystal) 166

Tree, Grosvenor Park (distorted) 167

Tree in a Cemetery 168

Tree in a Cemetery (crystal)

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Tree in a Cemetery (cubist and distorted))

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Trees, Misty Winter Morning 171

Trees, Misty Winter Morning (cubist) 172

Trees, Misty Winter Morning (cubist) 173

Trees, Misty Winter Morning (distorted) 174

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Winter Fog

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Approach Of Winter by William Carlos Williams The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go or driven like hail stream bitterly out to one side and fall where the salvias, hard carmine— like no leaf that ever was— edge the bare garden.

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Cemetery on a Misty Day 178

Cemetery on a Misty Day (detail, distorted) 179

Cross

Cross (distorted) 180

Web on a Cross 181

Web on a Cross (cubist) 182

Graves in the Mist 183

Tree in a Cemetery 184

Graves on a Winter Day 185

Ducks on Birkenhead Park Lake 186

Two Ducks on Birkenhead Park Lake 187

Birkenhead Park Lake in the Mist 188

Birkenhead Park Lake in the Early Winter Mist 189

Birkenhead Park Lake and Trees in the Mist 190

Birkenhead Park, Misty Winter Day 191

Bridge, Birkenhead Park 192

Bridge, Birkenhead Park (detail) 193

Bridge, Birkenhead Park, with Trees

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Birkenhead Park Bridge, Misty Day 195

Birkenhead Park Bridge, Misty Day (detail) 196

Birkenhead Park Bridge in the Mist 197

Birkenhead Park Bridge in the Mist 198

Bridge and Trees, Birkenhead Park 199

Birkenhead Park Bridge in the Mist 200

Birkenhead Park, Misty Morning with Lake and Trees 201

Winter Berries

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Winter Festivals

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The Snow Man By Wallace Stevens 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.

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Christmas Decorations 206

Christmas Decorations (crystal) 207

Christmas Decorations (crystal) 208

Christmas Decorations (cubist) 209

Christmas Tree in Chester Cathedral (cubist)

Christmas Tree in Chester Cathedral (distorted) 210

Christmas Tree in Chester Cathedral (crystal) 211

Christmas Pudding (distorted) 212

Christmas at Westfield Centre 213

Christmas Tre at Trafalgar Square (distorted) 214

Christmas at Liverpool ONE 215

Christmas at Liverpool ONE (crystal) 216

Christmas at Liverpool ONE (distorted) 217

Rudolph 218

Santa and a Christmas Tree 219

Winter Poems

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It sifts from leaden sieves by Emily Dickinson It sifts from leaden sieves, It powders all the wood, It fills with alabaster wool The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face Of mountain and of plain, — Unbroken forehead from the east Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence, It wraps it, rail by rail, Till it is lost in fleeces; It flings a crystal veil On stump and stack and stem, — The summer’s empty room, Acres of seams where harvests were, Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts, As ankles of a queen, — Then stills its artisans like ghosts, Denying they have been.

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Sonnet 97: How like a winter hath my absence been by William Shakespeare How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

What old December's bareness everywhere!

And yet this time remov'd was summer's time, The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And thou away, the very birds are mute; Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

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And crystal-covered shield.

Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear The Lapland drum delights to hear, When frenzy with her blood-shot eye Implores thy dreadful deity, Archangel! power of desolation!

Fast descending as thou art, Say, hath mortal invocation Spells to touch thy stony heart?

Then, sullen Winter, hear my prayer, And gently rule the ruined year; Nor chill the wanders bosom bare, Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear;To shuddering Want's unmantled bed Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead, And gently on the orphan head Of innocence descend.But chiefly spare, O king of clouds!

The sailor on his airy shrouds; When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, And specters walk along the deep.

Milder yet thy snowy breezes Pour on yonder tented shores, Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, Or the Dark-brown Danube roars.

Oh, winds of winter! List ye there To many a deep and dying groan; Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, At shrieks and thunders louder than your own.

Alas! Even unhallowed breath May spare the victim fallen low; But man will ask no truce of death,No bounds to human woe.

Ode to Winter by Thomas Campbell When first the fiery-mantled sun His heavenly race begun to run; Round the earth and ocean blue, His children four the Seasons flew.

First, in green apparel dancing, The young Spring smiled with angel grace; Rosy summer next advancing, Rushed into her sire's embrace:Her blue-haired sire, who bade her keep For ever nearest to his smile, On Calpe's olive-shaded steep, On India's citron-covered isles: More remote and buxom-brown, The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne, A rich pomegranate gemmed her gown, A ripe sheaf bound her zone.

But howling Winter fled afar, To hills that prop the polar star, And lives on deer-borne car to ride With barren darkness at his side, Round the shore where loud Lofoden Whirls to death the roaring whale, Round the hall where runic Odin Howls his war-song to the gale; Save when adown the ravaged globe He travels on his native storm, Deflowering Nature's grassy robe, And trampling on her faded form:Till light's returning lord assume The shaft the drives him to his polar field, Of power to pierce his raven plume 223

Russet and white and gray is the oak wood In the great snow. Still from the North it comes, Whispering, settling, sifting through the trees, O'erloading branch and twig. The road is lost.

Clearing and meadow, stream and ice-bound pond Are made once more a trackless wilderness In the white hush where not a creature stirs; And the pale sun is blotted from the sky.

In that strange twilight the lone traveller halts To listen to the stealthy snowflakes fall.

And then far off toward the Stamford shore, Where through the storm the coastwise liners go, Faint and recurrent on the muffled air, A foghorn booming through the Smother--hark!

The Winter Scene by Bliss Carman I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare woods, or the hardy bitter-sweet; Drivers have put their sheepskin jackets on; And all the ponds are sealed with sheeted ice That rings with stroke of skate and hockey-stick, Or in the twilight cracks with running whoop.

Bring in the logs of oak and hickory, And make an ample blaze on the wide hearth.

Now is the time, with winter o'er the world, For books and friends and yellow candle-light, And timeless lingering by the settling fire.

While all the shuddering stars are keen with cold.

IV When the day changed and the mad wind died down, The powdery drifts that all day long had blown Across the meadows and the open fields, Or whirled like diamond dust in the bright sun, Settled to rest, and for a tranquil hour The lengthening bluish shadows on the snow Stole down the orchard slope, and a rose light Flooded the earth with beauty and with peace.

Then in the west behind the cedars black The sinking sun stained red the winter dusk With sullen flare upon the snowy ridge,-As in a masterpiece by Hokusai, Where on a background gray, with flaming breath A scarlet dragon dies in dusky gold.

II Out from the silent portal of the hours, When frosts are come and all the hosts put on.

Their burnished gear to march across the night And o'er a darkened earth in splendor shine, Slowly above the world Orion wheels His glittering square, while on the shadowy hill And throbbing like a sea-light through the dusk, Great Sirius rises in his flashing blue.

Lord of the winter night, august and pure, Returning year on year untouched by time, To hearten faith with thine unfaltering fire, There are no hurts that beauty cannot ease, No ills that love cannot at last repair, In the victorious progress of the soul.

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And trains of sombre men, past tale of number, Tread long brown paths, as toward their toil they go: But even for them awhile no cares encumber Their minds diverted; the daily word is unspoken, The daily thoughts of labour and sorrow slumber At the sight of the beauty that greets them, for the charm they have broken.

London Snow BY Robert Bridges When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town; Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing; Lazily and incessantly floating down and down: Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing; Hiding difference, making unevenness even, Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing.

All night it fell, and when full inches seven It lay in the depth of its uncompacted lightness, The clouds blew off from a high and frosty heaven; And all woke earlier for the unaccustomed brightness Of the winter dawning, the strange unheavenly glare: The eye marvelled—marvelled at the dazzling whiteness; The ear hearkened to the stillness of the solemn air; No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling, And the busy morning cries came thin and spare.

Then boys I heard, as they went to school, calling, They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing; Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees; Or peering up from under the white-mossed wonder, ‘O look at the trees!’ they cried, ‘O look at the trees!’

With lessened load a few carts creak and blunder, Following along the white deserted way, A country company long dispersed asunder: When now already the sun, in pale display Standing by Paul’s high dome, spread forth below His sparkling beams, and awoke the stir of the day.

For now doors open, and war is waged with the snow; 225

Winter by William Shakespeare When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When Blood is nipped and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

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The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew, And I was unaware.

I leant upon a coppice gate, When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to me The Century’s corpse outleant, Its crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind its death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead, In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited.

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt and small, With blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, 227

A Winter Day by Lucy Maud Montgomery I

III

The air is silent save where stirs A bugling breeze among the firs; The virgin world in white array Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day; All heaven blooms rarely in the east Where skies are silvery and fleeced, And o'er the orient hills made glad The morning comes in wonder clad; Oh, 'tis a time most fit to see How beautiful the dawn can be!

Faint music rings in wold and dell, The tinkling of a distant bell, Where homestead lights with friendly glow Glimmer across the drifted snow; Beyond a valley dim and far Lit by an occidental star, Tall pines the marge of day beset Like many a slender minaret, Whence priest-like winds on crystal air Summon the reverent world to prayer.

A Winter Dawn by Lucy Maud Montgomery 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.

II Wide, sparkling fields snow-vestured lie Beneath a blue, unshadowed sky; A glistening splendor crowns the woods And bosky, whistling solitudes; In hemlock glen and reedy mere The tang of frost is sharp and clear; Life hath a jollity and zest, A poignancy made manifest; Laughter and courage have their way At noontide of a winter's day.

Through the pale arch of orient the morn Comes in a milk-white splendor newly-born, A sword of crimson cuts in twain the gray Banners of shadow hosts, and lo, the day!

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Of Clouds, wide-scattering, with a lucid Veil, Soft, shadow o'er th'unruffled Face of Heaven; And, thro' their dewy Sluices, shed the Sun, With temper'd Influence down. Then is the Time, For those, whom Wisdom, and whom Nature charm, To steal themselves from the degenerate Croud, And soar above this little Scene of Things: To tread low-thoughted Vice beneath their Feet: To lay their Passions in a gentle Calm, And woo lone Quiet, in her silent Walks.

The Seasons: Winter by James Thomson See! Winter comes, to rule the varied Year, Sullen, and sad; with all his rising Train, Vapours, and Clouds, and Storms: Be these my Theme, These, that exalt the Soul to solemn Thought, And heavenly musing. Welcome kindred Glooms!

Wish'd, wint'ry, Horrors, hail! -- With frequent Foot, Pleas'd, have I, in my cheerful Morn of Life, When, nurs'd by careless Solitude, I liv'd, And sung of Nature with unceasing Joy, Pleas'd, have I wander'd thro' your rough Domains; Trod the pure, virgin, Snows, my self as pure: Heard the Winds roar, and the big Torrent burst: Or seen the deep, fermenting, Tempest brew'd, In the red, evening, Sky. -- Thus pass'd the Time, Till, thro' the opening Chambers of the South, Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smil'd.

THEE too, Inspirer of the toiling Swain!

Fair AUTUMN, yellow rob'd! I'll sing of thee, Of thy last, temper'd, Days, and sunny Calms; When all the golden Hours are on the Wing, Attending thy Retreat, and round thy Wain, Slow-rolling, onward to the Southern Sky.

NOW, solitary, and in pensive Guise, Oft, let me wander o'er the russet Mead, Or thro' the pining Grove; where scarce is heard One dying Strain, to chear the Woodman's Toil: Sad Philomel, perchance, pours forth her Plaint, Far, thro' the withering Copse. Mean while, the Leaves, That, late, the Forest clad with lively Green, Nipt by the drizzly Night, and Sallow-hu'd, Fall, wavering, thro' the Air; or shower amain, Urg'd by the Breeze, that sobs amid the Boughs.

Then list'ning Hares forsake the rusling Woods, And, starting at the frequent Noise, escape To the rough Stubble, and the rushy Fen. Then Woodcocks, o'er the fluctuating Main, That glimmers to the Glimpses of the Moon, Stretch their long Voyage to the woodland Glade: Where, wheeling with uncertain Flight, they mock The nimble Fowler's Aim. -- Now Nature droops; Languish the living Herbs, with pale Decay: And all the various Family of Flowers Their sunny Robes resign. The falling Fruits, Thro' the still Night, forsake the Parent-Bough,

BEHOLD! the well-pois'd Hornet, hovering, hangs, With quivering Pinions, in the genial Blaze; Flys off, in airy Circles: then returns, And hums, and dances to the beating Ray. Nor shall the Man, that, musing, walks alone, And, heedless, strays within his radiant Lists, Go unchastis'd away. -- Sometimes, a Fleece 229

That, in the first, grey, Glances of the Dawn, Looks wild, and wonders at the wintry Waste.

Now, o'er the pure Cerulean, rides sublime.

Wide the pale Deluge floats, with silver Waves, O'er the sky'd Mountain, to the low-laid Vale; From the white Rocks, with dim Reflexion, gleams, And faintly glitters thro' the waving Shades.

THE Year, yet pleasing, but declining fast, Soft, o'er the secret Soul, in gentle Gales, A Philosophic Melancholly breathes, And bears the swelling Thought aloft to Heaven.

Then forming Fancy rouses to conceive, What never mingled with the Vulgar's Dream: Then wake the tender Pang, the pitying Tear, The Sigh for suffering Worth, the Wish prefer'd For Humankind, the Joy to see them bless'd, And all the Social Off-spring of the Heart!

ALL Night, abundant Dews, unnoted, fall, And, at Return of Morning, silver o'er The Face of Mother-Earth; from every Branch Depending, tremble the translucent Gems, And, quivering, seem to fall away, yet cling, And sparkle in the Sun, whose rising Eye, With Fogs bedim'd, portends a beauteous Day.

OH! bear me then to high, embowering, Shades; To twilight Groves, and visionary Vales; To weeping Grottos, and to hoary Caves; Where Angel-Forms are seen, and Voices heard, Sigh'd in low Whispers, that abstract the Soul, From outward Sense, far into Worlds remote.

NOW, giddy Youth, whom headlong Passions fire, Rouse the wild Game, and stain the guiltless Grove, With Violence, and Death; yet call it Sport, To scatter Ruin thro' the Realms of Love, And Peace, that thinks no Ill: But These, the Muse, Whose Charity, unlimited, extends As wide as Nature works, disdains to sing, Returning to her nobler Theme in view --

NOW, when the Western Sun withdraws the Day, And humid Evening, gliding o'er the Sky, In her chill Progress, checks the straggling Beams, And robs them of their gather'd, vapoury, Prey, Where Marshes stagnate, and where Rivers wind, Cluster the rolling Fogs, and swim along The dusky-mantled Lawn: then slow descend, Once more to mingle with their Watry Friends.

The vivid Stars shine out, in radiant Files; And boundless Ether glows, till the fair Moon Shows her broad Visage, in the crimson'd East; Now, stooping, seems to kiss the passing Cloud:

FOR, see! where Winter comes, himself, confest, Striding the gloomy Blast. First Rains obscure Drive thro' the mingling Skies, with Tempest foul; Beat on the Mountain's Brow, and shake the Woods, That, sounding, wave below. The dreary Plain Lies overwhelm'd, and lost. The bellying Clouds Combine, and deepening into Night, shut up The Day's fair Face. The Wanderers of Heaven, Each to his Home, retire; save those that love To take their Pastime in the troubled Air, 230

And, skimming, flutter round the dimply Flood.

The Cattle, from th'untasted Fields, return, And ask, with Meaning low, their wonted Stalls; Or ruminate in the contiguous Shade: Thither, the houshold, feathery, People croud, The crested Cock, with all his female Train, Pensive, and wet. Mean while, the Cottage-Swain Hangs o'er th'enlivening Blaze, and, taleful, there, Recounts his simple Frolic: Much he talks, And much he laughs, nor recks the Storm that blows Without, and rattles on his humble Roof.

In what untravel'd Country of the Air, Hush'd in still Silence, sleep you, when 'tis calm?

LATE, in the louring Sky, red, fiery, Streaks Begin to flush about; the reeling Clouds Stagger with dizzy Aim, as doubting yet Which Master to obey: while rising, slow, Sad, in the Leaden-colour'd East, the Moon Wears a bleak Circle round her sully'd Orb. Then issues forth the Storm, with loud Control, And the thin Fabrick of the pillar'd Air O'erturns, at once. Prone, on th'uncertain Main, Descends th'Etherial Force, and plows its Waves, With dreadful Rift: from the mid-Deep, appears, Surge after Surge, the rising, wat'ry, War. Whitening, the angry Billows rowl immense, And roar their Terrors, thro' the shuddering Soul Of feeble Man, amidst their Fury caught, And, dash'd upon his Fate: Then, o'er the Cliff, Where dwells the Sea-Mew, unconfin'd, they fly, And, hurrying, swallow up the steril Shore.

AT last, the muddy Deluge pours along, Resistless, roaring; dreadful down it comes From the chapt Mountain, and the mossy Wild, Tumbling thro' Rocks abrupt, and sounding far: Then o'er the sanded Valley, floating, spreads, Calm, sluggish, silent; till again constrain'd, Betwixt two meeting Hills, it bursts a Way, Where Rocks, and Woods o'erhang the turbid Stream.

There gathering triple Force, rapid, and deep, It boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders thro'.

THE Mountain growls; and all its sturdy Sons Stoop to the Bottom of the Rocks they shade: Lone, on its Midnight-Side, and all aghast, The dark, way-faring, Stranger, breathless, toils, And climbs against the Blast -Low, waves the rooted Forest, vex'd, and sheds What of its leafy Honours yet remains.

Thus, struggling thro' the dissipated Grove, The whirling Tempest raves along the Plain; And, on the Cottage thacht, or lordly Dome, Keen-fastening, shakes 'em to the solid Base.

NATURE! great Parent! whose directing Hand Rolls round the Seasons of the changeful Year, How mighty! how majestick are thy Works!

With what a pleasing Dread they swell the Soul, That sees, astonish'd! and, astonish'd sings!

You too, ye Winds! that now begin to blow, With boisterous Sweep, I raise my Voice to you.

Where are your Stores, ye viewless Beings! say?

Where your aerial Magazines reserv'd, Against the Day of Tempest perilous?

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Sleep, frighted, flies; the hollow Chimney howls, The Windows rattle, and the Hinges creak.

From every low Pursuit! and feed my Soul, With Knowledge, conscious Peace, and Vertue pure, Sacred, substantial, never-fading Bliss!

THEN, too, they say, thro' all the burthen'd Air, Long Groans are heard, shrill Sounds, and distant Sighs, That, murmur'd by the Demon of the Night, Warn the devoted Wretch of Woe, and Death!

Wild Uproar lords it wide: the Clouds commixt, With Stars, swift-gliding, sweep along the Sky. All Nature reels. -- But hark! the Almighty speaks: Instant, the chidden Storm begins to pant, And dies, at once, into a noiseless Calm.

LO! from the livid East, or piercing North, Thick Clouds ascend, in whose capacious Womb, A vapoury Deluge lies, to Snow congeal'd: Heavy, they roll their fleecy World along; And the Sky saddens with th'impending Storm.

Thro' the hush'd Air, the whitening Shower descends, At first, thin-wavering; till, at last, the Flakes Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the Day, With a continual Flow. See! sudden, hoar'd, The Woods beneath the stainless Burden bow, Blackning, along the mazy Stream it melts; Earth's universal Face, deep-hid, and chill, Is all one, dazzling, Waste. The Labourer-Ox Stands cover'd o'er with Snow, and then demands The Fruit of all his Toil. The Fowls of Heaven, Tam'd by the cruel Season, croud around The winnowing Store, and claim the little Boon, That Providence allows. The foodless Wilds Pour forth their brown Inhabitants; the Hare, Tho' timorous of Heart, and hard beset

By Death, in various Forms, dark Snares, and Dogs, And more unpitying Men, the Garden seeks, Urg'd on by fearless Want. The bleating Kind Eye the bleak Heavens, and next, the glistening Earth, With Looks of dumb Despair; then sad, dispers'd, Dig, for the wither'd Herb, thro' Heaps of Snow.

AS yet, 'tis Midnight's Reign; the weary Clouds, Slow-meeting, mingle into solid Gloom: Now, while the drousy World lies lost in Sleep, Let me associate with the low-brow'd Night, And Contemplation, her sedate Compeer; Let me shake off th'intrusive Cares of Day, And lay the medling Senses all aside.

AND now, ye lying Vanities of Life!

You ever-tempting, ever-cheating Train!

Where are you now? and what is your Amount?

Vexation, Disappointment, and Remorse.

Sad, sickening, Thought! and yet, deluded Man, A Scene of wild, disjointed, Visions past, And broken Slumbers, rises, still resolv'd, With new-flush'd Hopes, to run your giddy Round.

FATHER of Light, and Life! Thou Good Supreme!

O! teach me what is Good! teach me thy self!

Save me from Folly, Vanity and Vice,

NOW, Shepherds, to your helpless Charge be kind; Baffle the raging Year, and fill their Penns 232

With Food, at will: lodge them below the Blast, And watch them strict; for from the bellowing East, In this dire Season, oft the Whirlwind's Wing Sweeps up the Burthen of whole wintry Plains, In one fierce Blast, and o'er th'unhappy Flocks, Lodg'd in the Hollow of two neighbouring Hills, The billowy Tempest whelms; till, upwards urg'd, The Valley to a shining Mountain swells, That curls its Wreaths amid the freezing Sky.

Scipio, the humane Warriour, gently brave, Fair Learning's Friend; who early sought the Shade, To dwell, with Innocence, and Truth, retir'd.

And, equal to the best, the Theban, He Who, single, rais'd his Country into Fame.

Thousands behind, the Boast of Greece and Rome, Whom Vertue owns, the Tribute of a Verse Demand, but who can count the Stars of Heaven?

Who sing their Influence on this lower World?

But see who yonder comes! nor comes alone, With sober State, and of majestic Mien, The Sister-Muses in his Train -- 'Tis He! Maro! the best of Poets, and of Men! Great Homer too appears, of daring Wing!

Parent of Song! and, equal, by his Side, The British Muse, join'd Hand in Hand, they walk, Darkling, nor miss their Way to Fame's Ascent.

NOW, all amid the Rigours of the Year, In the wild Depth of Winter, while without The ceaseless Winds blow keen, be my Retreat A rural, shelter'd, solitary, Scene; Where ruddy Fire, and beaming Tapers join To chase the chearless Gloom: there let me sit, And hold high Converse with the mighty Dead, Sages of ancient Time, as Gods rever'd, As Gods beneficent, who blest Mankind, With Arts, and Arms, and humaniz'd a World, Rous'd at th'inspiring Thought -- I throw aside The long-liv'd Volume, and, deep-musing, hail The sacred Shades, that, slowly-rising, pass Before my wondering Eyes -- First, Socrates, Truth's early Champion, Martyr for his God: Solon, the next, who built his Commonweal, On Equity's firm Base: Lycurgus, then, Severely good, and him of rugged Rome, Numa, who soften'd her rapacious Sons.

Cimon sweet-soul'd, and Aristides just.

Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in Extreme; With that attemper'd Heroe, mild, and firm, Who wept the Brother, while the Tyrant bled.

Society divine! Immortal Minds!

Still visit thus my Nights, for you reserv'd, And mount my soaring Soul to Deeds like yours.

Silence! thou lonely Power! the Door be thine: See, on the hallow'd Hour, that none intrude, Save Lycidas, the Friend, with Sense refin'd, Learning digested well, exalted Faith, Unstudy'd Wit, and Humour ever gay.

CLEAR Frost succeeds, and thro' the blew Serene, For Sight too fine, th'Ætherial Nitre flies, To bake the Glebe, and bind the slip'ry Flood.

This of the wintry Season is the Prime; Pure are the Days, and lustrous are the Nights, Brighten'd with starry Worlds, till then unseen.

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Mean while, the Orient, darkly red, breathes forth An Icy Gale, that, in its mid Career, Arrests the bickering Stream. The nightly Sky, And all her glowing Constellations pour Their rigid Influence down: It freezes on Till Morn, late-rising, o'er the drooping World, Lifts her pale Eye, unjoyous: then appears The various Labour of the silent Night, The pendant Isicle, the Frost-Work fair, Where thousand Figures rise, the crusted Snow, Tho' white, made whiter, by the fining North.

On blithsome Frolics bent, the youthful Swains, While every Work of Man is laid at Rest, Rush o'er the watry Plains, and, shuddering, view The fearful Deeps below: or with the Gun, And faithful Spaniel, range the ravag'd Fields, And, adding to the Ruins of the Year, Distress the Feathery, or the Footed Game.

Beneath the Shelter of an Icy Isle; While Night o'erwhelms the Sea, and Horror looks More horrible. Can human Hearts endure Th'assembled Mischiefs, that besiege them round: Unlist'ning Hunger, fainting Weariness, The Roar of Winds, and Waves, the Crush of Ice, Now, ceasing, now, renew'd, with louder Rage, And bellowing round the Main: Nations remote, Shook from their Midnight-Slumbers, deem they hear Portentous Thunder, in the troubled Sky. More to embroil the Deep, Leviathan, And his unweildy Train, in horrid Sport, Tempest the loosen'd Brine; while, thro' the Gloom, Far, from the dire, unhospitable Shore, The Lyon's Rage, the Wolf's sad Howl is heard, And all the fell Society of Night.

Yet, Providence, that ever-waking Eye Looks down, with Pity, on the fruitless Toil Of Mortals, lost to Hope, and lights them safe, Thro' all this dreary Labyrinth of Fate.

BUT hark! the nightly Winds, with hollow Voice, Blow, blustering, from the South -- the Frost subdu'd, Gradual, resolves into a weeping Thaw.

Spotted, the Mountains shine: loose Sleet descends, And floods the Country round: the Rivers swell, Impatient for the Day. -- Those sullen Seas, That wash th'ungenial Pole, will rest no more, Beneath the Shackles of the mighty North; But, rousing all their Waves, resistless heave, -And hark! -- the length'ning Roar, continuous, runs Athwart the rifted Main; at once, it bursts, And piles a thousand Mountains to the Clouds!

Ill fares the Bark, the Wretches' last Resort, That, lost amid the floating Fragments, moors

'TIS done! -- Dread WINTER has subdu'd the Year, And reigns, tremenduous, o'er the desart Plains!

How dead the Vegetable Kingdom lies!

How dumb the Tuneful! Horror wide extends His solitary Empire -- Now, fond Man! Behold thy pictur'd Life: pass some few Years, Thy flow'ring SPRING, thy short-liv'd SUMMER's Strength, Thy sober AUTUMN, fading into Age, And pale, concluding, WINTER shuts thy Scene, And shrouds Thee in the Grave -- where now, are fled Those Dreams of Greatness? those unsolid Hopes Of Happiness? those Longings after Fame?

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Those restless Cares? those busy, bustling Days?

Those Nights of secret Guilt? those veering Thoughts, Flutt'ring 'twixt Good, and Ill, that shar'd thy Life?

All, now, are vanish'd! Vertue, sole, survives, Immortal, Mankind's never-failing Friend, His Guide to Happiness on high -- and see!

'Tis come, the Glorious Morn! the second Birth Of Heaven, and Earth! -- awakening Nature hears Th'Almighty Trumpet's Voice, and starts to Life, Renew'd, unfading. Now, th'Eternal Scheme, That Dark Perplexity, that Mystic Maze, Which Sight cou'd never trace, nor Heart conceive, To Reason's Eye, refin'd, clears up apace.

Angels, and Men, astonish'd, pause -- and dread To travel thro' the Depths of Providence, Untry'd, unbounded. Ye vain Learned! see, And, prostrate in the Dust, adore that Power, And Goodness, oft arraign'd. See now the Cause,

Why conscious Worth, oppress'd, in secret long Mourn'd, unregarded: Why the Good Man's Share In Life, was Gall, and Bitterness of Soul: Why the lone Widow, and her Orphans, pin'd, In starving Solitude; while Luxury, In Palaces, lay prompting her low Thought, To form unreal Wants: why Heaven-born Faith, And Charity, prime Grace! wore the red Marks Of Persecution's Scourge: why licens'd Pain, That cruel Spoiler, that embosom'd Foe, Imbitter'd all our Bliss. Ye Good Distrest!

Ye Noble Few! that, here, unbending, stand Beneath Life's Pressures -- yet a little while, And all your Woes are past. Time swiftly fleets, And wish'd Eternity, approaching, brings Life undecaying, Love without Allay, Pure flowing Joy, and Happiness sincere.

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Waves at Egremont

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Waves at Egremont (cubist)

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