by Robert Louis Stevenson
In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane
The redbreast looks in vain
For hips and haws,
Lo, shining flowers upon my window-pane
The silver pencil of the winter draws.
When all the snowy hill
And the bare woods are still;
When snipes are silent in the frozen bogs,
And all the garden garth is whelmed in mire,
Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs --
More fair than roses, lo, the flowers of fire!
From An Inheritance of Poetry, collected and arranged by Gladys L. Adshead and Annis Duff [821 ADS].
Now, please take a side trip to New Hampshire Garden Solutions, a blog that recently ran a post titled, "Ice." Spend a little time marveling over "the silver pencil of the winter" and its drawings done here in New Hampshire.
Then, hop down to New Jersey where A Teaching Life is hosting this week's Round-Up.