Image from the 19th-century Woman blog, who has several of these winter scenes posted.


E’en the old posts, that hold the bars,
And the old gate,
Forgetful of their winter’s wars,
And aged sedate,
High capped and plumed, like white hussars,
Stand there in state.

The drifts are hanging by the rill,
The eaves, the door;
The hay-stack has become a hill —
All covered o’er —
The wagon loaded for the mill,
The night before!

Maria brings the water pail —
But where’s the well?
Like magic of a fairy tale,
Most strange to tell,
All vanished! curb, and crank, and rail —
How deep it fell!

The wood-pile, too, is playing hide
The ax — the log —
The kennel of that friend so tried,
(The old watch-dog –)
The grindstone standing by its side,
All now incog!

The bustling cock looks our aghast,
From his high shed;
No spot to scratch him a repast —
Up curves his head.
Starts the dull hamlet with a blast,
Then back to bed!

Democratic State Register (Watertown and Dodge Center, Wisconsin) Jan 13, 1851

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