The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.
......
Fear no more the heat o' the sun;
Nor the furious winter's rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.
Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
......
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.
......
Have the poets left in the garment a place for a patch to be patched by me; and did you know the abode of your beloved after reflection?2
The vestige of the house, which did not speak, confounded thee, until it spoke by means of signs, like one deaf and dumb.
Verily, I kept my she-camel there long grumbling, with a yearning at the blackened stones, keeping and standing firm in their own places.
It is the abode of a friend, languishing in her glance, submissive in the embrace, pleasant of smile.
Oh house of 'Ablah situated at Jiwaa, talk with me about those who resided in you. Good morning to you, O house of 'Ablah, and be safe from ruin.
......
HOW many singers before me! Are there yet songs unsung?
Dost thou, my sad soul, remember where was her dwelling place?
Tents in Jiwá, the fair wadi, speak ye to me of her.
Fair house of 'Abla my true love, blessing and joy to thee!
Doubting I paused in the pastures, seeking her camel-tracks,
......
In winter's shroud, the moon arises, a sage,
Clad in robes of frost, her visage grave and pale.
She wanders 'mongst the sleeping, barren age,
A silent sentry in the velvet veil.
Her gaze, a shepherd's crook, guides weary souls,
Through nights of ice and desolation's hold.
Beneath her lantern, fields of snow unroll,
Where silence whispers tales of ancient scrolls.
......
Upon the earth, a soft and silent shroud,
The first snowfall whispers secrets untold,
Each flake a dream, in silver light endowed,
As nature dons her gown of purest gold.
In quiet awe, the world begins to pause,
The air, a crisp embrace, so fresh and bright,
While laughter dances, children's joyful cause,
Their footprints weave a tale in gleaming white.
......
I always long for winter,
cold but not the rain.
And enjoy the fluffy white,
covering the road and lane.
The icy woods would sparkle,
in the hazy light of sun.
Greyish the skies shall be,
after the storms have gone.
My eyes enjoy the beauty,
......
Frozen streams are calm incidents of winter
When lean, broken stems seem dead and gone
But the way things stand now in the nearby minster,
Canticles accompanied by spawning candles are worn.
My beloved Malvern Hills,
the winter so cold; so still.
The Snow Bunting and the Robin;
standing brave against the chill.
Snow falling; snow drifting,
sledges slipping and sliding.
Heads bowed as if in hiding;
with hats and scarves of every hue
jackets and coats; old and new,
with one desire; The Beacons view.
......