Frozen

Everything is frozen….the trees, the ground, the outside world in general, my brain, my feet.  Everything.  And it’s NOT for the first time in forever….You know I had to get at least one reference in here, with a title like that! 🙂  Well, not everything is frozen, but a lot of things- it’s just easier and more dramatic to simply state everything.  I had wanted to write something about the snow, or about times coming when there will be no more snow(hopefully…..), but my mind being in the current state that it is, I have nothing that is too exciting to write this week- or read, in your case.  All I can say is that it is snowing again, that it really is quite beautiful, but also that I am quite ready for spring to visit(and perhaps, stay a while?), and here is some poetry you might enjoy.  One is by Emily Dickinson, another by Christina Rossetti(my favorite poet, or poetess?), and the last I just read this morning, for the first time, but liked a fair amount. *Note: I didn’t like it because Monsieur Frost has any horribly virtuous qualities, but rather I admired Miss Gould’s imagination and portrayal of a character. 🙂  Thanks for reading what I am inclined to believe is my shortest post ever, and have a lovely week!  And if you would like to, let me know which of these three poems is your favorite.  Or tell me your favorite poem, and I’ll check it out! 🙂

March

We like March, his shoes are purple,

He is new and high;

Makes he mud for dog and peddler,

Makes he forest dry;

Knows the adder’s tongue his coming,

And begets her spot.

Stands the sun so close and mighty

That our minds are hot.

News is he of all the others;

Bold it were to die,

With the blue-birds buccaneering

On his British sky.

                                           -Emily Dickinson

  A Wintry Sonnet

A Robin said:  The Spring will never come,

And I shall never care to build again.

A Rosebush said:  These frosts are wearisome,

My sap will never stir for sun or rain.

The half Moon said:  These nights are fogged and slow,

I neither care to wax nor care to wane.

The Ocean said:  I thirst from long ago,

Because earth’s rivers cannot fill the main.-

When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,

And trilled a lover’s song in sheer delight.

Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might

Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core

The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,

Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.

                                           –Christina Rossetti    

The Frost

The Frost looked forth, on still, clear night,

And he said, “Now I shall be out of sight;

So through the valley and over the height

In silence I’ll take my way.

I will not go like that blustering train,

The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,

Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,

But I’ll be as busy as they!”

The he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest,

He climbed up the trees, and their boughs he dressed,

With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast

of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear

The downward point of many a spear

Tat he hung on its margin, far and near,

Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,

And over each pane like a fairy crept,

Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,

By the light of the moon were seen

Most beautiful thing. There were flowers and trees,

There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees,

There were cities, thrones, temples, towers, and these

All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair,-

He peeped in the cupboard, and, finding there

That all had forgotten for him to prepare,-

“Now, just to set them a thinking,

I’ll bite this basket of fruit,” said he;

“This costly pitcher I’ll burst in three,

And the glass of water they’ve left for me

Shall ‘tchick!’ to tell them I’m drinking.”

                                           –Miss Gould