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- And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms.
- William Bradford (1590 - 1657), Of Plymouth Plantation
- The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood.
- John Burroughs (1837 - 1921), The Snow-Walkers
- Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
- Willa Cather (1873 - 1947), My Antonia
- Over the river and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go; The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh, Through the white and drifted snow.
- Lydia M. Child, Flowers for Children--Thanksgiving Day
- O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
- William Cowper (1731 - 1800), Task (bk. IV, l. 120)
- There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons-- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes--
- Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), No. 258
- 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.
- Robert Frost (1874 - 1963), Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
- Every winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables, Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay-- Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.
- Charles Kingsley (1819 - 1875), Saint's Tragedy (act III, sc. 1)
- 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 (1830 - 1894), A Christmas Carol
- If there comes a little thaw,
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribbles down a marshy flood;
Ankle-deep you stick in mud In the meadows while you sing,
"This is Spring." - Christopher Pearce Cranch, A Spring Growl
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