Winter Poetry...

 

Snow Ball

I made myself a snow ball as perfect as could be
I thought I'd keep it as a pet and let it sleep with me
I made it some pajamas and a pillow for it's head
Then, last night it ran away
But first -- it wet the bed.

Shel Silverstein

 The First Snow

The snow! the snow! Whoop! Hooray! Ho! Ho!
Plunge in the deep drifts and toss it up so!
     Rollick and roll in the feathery fleece
     Plucked out of the breasts of the marvelous geese
By the little old woman who lives in the sky;
Have ever you seen her? No, neither have I!

  

Evaleen Stein

I Heard a Bird Sing

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember:
"We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,"
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

Oliver Herford

Falling Snow

 

See the pretty snowflakes
Falling from the sky;
On the wall and housetops
Soft and thick they lie.

On the window ledges,
On the branches bare;
Now how fast they gather,
Filling all the air.

Look into the garden,
Where the grass was green;
Covered by the snowflakes,
Not a blade is seen.

Now the bare black bushes
All look soft and white,
Every twig is laden,
What a pretty sight!

The Frosted Pane

      When I wakened, very early,
     All my window-pane was pearly
With a sparkling little picture traced in lines of shining white;
     Some magician with a gleaming
     Frosty brush, while I was dreaming,
Must have come and by the starlight worked through all the quiet night.

     He had painted frosty people,
     And a frosty church and steeple,
And a frosty bridge and river tumbling over frosty rocks;
     Frosty mountain peaks that glimmered,
     And fine frosty ferns that shimmered,
And a frosty little pasture full of frosty little flocks.

     It was all touched in so lightly
     And it glittered, oh, so whitely,
That I gazed and gazed in wonder at the lovely painted pane;
     Then the sun rose high and higher
     With his wand of golden fire
Till, alas, my picture vanished and I looked for it in vain!

  

Evaleen Stein

Picture Books in Winter

 

Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.

Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.

All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.

We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.

How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?

Robert Louis Stevenson 

Winter-Time

 

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.

 Robert Louis Stevenson