Posts Tagged ‘Snow’

Snow’s a Bleak and Ghostly Thing

December 5, 2011


When I was young, long, long ago,
I loved to see the falling snow;
but now that I am old and bent,
I do not like it worth a cent.
The land looks ghastly, stark and dead,
when over it the snow is spread;
the land where late the roses bloomed
is in its shroud in snow entombed.
I like this good old pleasant globe
when shining verdure forms its robe,
when grass is growing on the hills,
and codfish sport along the rills;
then everything seems full of vim;
I dance and shake a buoyant limb;
and if some common village scold
come up to tell me I am old,
I turn a handspring on the green,
to show that I am sweet sixteen.
It takes the sunshine and the breeze
to limber up a dotard’s knees,
and make him feel he’s still on earth,
a creature of some use and worth.
But when he from the window looks
on naked woods and frozen brooks,
on snow wreaths whirling in a rage,
he feels the burden of his age.
It seems to him his age must be
a thousand years, plus two or three.
And all the boys he used to know
are sleeping somewhere ‘neath the snow;
and colder than a miser’s soul
the snow comes down, while church bells toll
a requiem for Tom or Jim —
when will the blamed bells toll for him?
Such thoughts the drifting snowflakes bring;
and snow’s a bleak and ghostly thing.

Walt Mason

Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Dec 21, 1920

Appleton Post Crescent (Appleton, Wisconsin) Dec 5, 1921


February 5, 2011

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

Oh! Snow!

January 26, 2011

Image from the Ephemeral New York blog.


The snow! the beautiful snow!
Falling eider as down on bough,
Waking the poet’s musical gush,
Filling the street with villainous slush,
Sliding from roofs on heads below,
Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow!
Rasping the nose to a ruddly glow,
Rasping the temper equally so,
The beautiful, beautiful, beautiful snow!

Seventeen verses omitted.

Newport Daily News (Newport, Rhode Island) Feb 6, 1879

Memories of Minnesota Snow

December 28, 2010

How mem’ries of the long ago
Are swarming through my brain today,
The times I used to shovel snow
In Minnesota far away.

It fell all winter long and blew
In drifts as high as Trompen’s form,
And all that time I never knew
The rest and joy of being warm.

My feet or hands were always cold;
And envy tortured me indeed
For sheep that huddled in the fold
While I was hustling hay for feed.

I now, in fancy, see the shed,
All covered o’er and banked with straw,
The cattle waiting to be fed,
The tons of hay we had to draw.

The prancing horses “fine as silk,”
Hitched to the sleigh that bore the rack,
The spotted cows I had to milk
With fingers numb when we got back.

All this before the twilight grey
Of morn broke over fields of snow —
Then breakfast and to school away;
This was the life of long ago.




Dost wonder I now hate to see
The snow drifts piled along the street
So painfully reminding me
Of frozen ears and chill-blained feet?

Dost wonder that I shirk the task
Of walking out in such a sight
And much prefer to sit and bask
By grates of blazing anthracite?

I hope when life’s sad day is done
To find a land described like this:
A region of eternal sun
Set in a canopy of bliss.

Long, shady lanes, bedecked with flowers,
That wind through valleys wide and deep,
With here and there vine-covered bowers,
And clover beds on which to sleep;

Where balmy breezes ever blow
With odors of the rose and pine,
Where there is neither ice nor snow —
(I want no more of these in mine);

Where soft-toned harps can ever wake
Emotion that subdues, refines,
And no one cracks a lung to make
E flat above the ledger lines.

Nebraska State Journal – Dec 5, 1897

SNOW – An Acrostic

December 17, 2010

Snow — An Acrostic.

Swept from out the heavenly streets,
Now our lower air it greets!
Oh! how pure must be the world
Whence such spotless dust is hurled.

Strange! that in those sun-warmed skies,
Nestling in some white clouds side;
Ocean drops should turn to ice,
Whitened, brightened, purified!

So, if hearts of mortal mould,
Near His throne aspire to rise,
Ore of earth must change to gold,
Would it gleam in Paradise.

[Alb. Eve. Jour.

Watertown Chronicle (Watertown, Wisconsin) Jan 17, 1849