It has been snowing today here in Rhode Island. The part of me that has to bring in firewood and drive places is dubious about the whole thing, but the gardener part is happy to see the bare soil covered, so as to better grow things next spring. (As, I think, Laura said to Almanzo, or vice versa, in The First Four Years, "Snow is poor man's fertilizer").
Here are two beautiful snow poems, by Robert Graves (early to mid 20th century, English, author of I, Claudius but primarily a poet in his own mind).
She, then, like snow in a dark night,
Fell secretly. And the world waked
With dazzling of the drowsy eye,
So that some muttered 'Too much light',
And drew the curtains close.
Like snow, warmer than fingers feared,
And to soil friendly;
Holding the histories of the night
In yet unmelted tracks.
She Tells Her Love
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And put out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
Poetry Friday is at Big A little a today!