I LOVE WINTER - HERE'S A FAVOURITE POEM TO CELEBRATE

Woods in Winter 

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When winter winds are piercing chill,

And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill,

That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods,

The embracing sunbeams chastely play,

And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,

The summer vine in beauty clung,

And summer winds the stillness broke,

The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs

Pour out the river's gradual tide,

Shrilly the skater's iron rings,

And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,

When birds sang out their mellow lay,

And winds were soft, and woods were green,

And the song ceased not with the day!

But still wild music is abroad,

Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;

And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear

Has grown familiar with your song;

I hear it in the opening year,

I listen, and it cheers me long.

SPRING - IT'S HERE

DAFFODILS

I wandered lonely as a cloud


That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine


And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line


Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.




The waves beside them danced, but they


Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;

A poet could not be but gay,

In such a jocund company!

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought


What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie


In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye


Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils. [& Magnolias]

.....by William Wordsworth

Still Here - Literally Smelling My Roses!

The lily has a smooth stalk

Will never hurt your hand,

But the rose upon her briar

Is the lady of the land.

-Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

This is the view from my kitchen window.

O Rose, thou flower of flowers, thou fragrant wonder,

Who shall describe thee in they ruddy prime,

Thy perfect fullness in the summertime,

When the pale leaves blushingly part asunder

And show the warm red heart lies glowing under?

Thou shouldst bloom surely in some sunny clime,

Untouched by blights and chilly winter’s rime,

Where lightnings never flash nor peals the thunder,

And yet in happier spheres they cannot need thee

So much as we do with our weight of woe;

Perhaps they would not tend, perhaps not heed thee,

And thou wouldst lonely and neglected grow;

And He who is all wise, He hath decreed thee

To gladden earth and cheer all hearts below.

- Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Spring In My Garden

God's Garden

The Lord God planted a garden

In the first white days of the world,

And He set there an angel warden

In a garment of light enfurled.

So near to the peace of Heaven,

That the hawk might nest with the wren,

For there in the cool of the even

God walked with the first of men.

And I dream that these garden-closes

With their shade and their sun-flecked sod

And their lilies and bowers of roses,

Were laid by the hand of God.

The kiss of the sun for pardon,

The song of the birds for mirth --

One is nearer God's heart in a garden

Than anywhere else on earth.

For He broke it for us in a garden

Under the olive-trees

Where the angel of strength was the warden

And the soul of the world found ease.

By Dorothy Frances Gurney

Can you spot my grandson?