To Winter

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'

He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathèd
In ribbèd steel; I dare not lift mine eyes,
For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

Lo! now the direful monster, whose 1000 skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and in his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

He takes his seat upon the cliffs,--the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st
With storms!--till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.

William Blake

William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker, who is considered one of the seminal figures in the history of poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. Born in London, Blake was largely unrecognized during his lifetime but is now renowned for his expressive and mystical works that blend poetic and visual art. His notable works include 'Songs of Innocence and Experience' and 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'. His unique creative vision and philosophical outlook have influenced numerous artists and thinkers since his death.

William Blake

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William Blake, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Winter. (The Winds)

Spirit of unwearied wing,
From the Baltic's frozen main,
From the Russ's bleak domain,
Say, what tidings dost thou bring!
Shouts, and the noise of battle! and again
The winged wind blew loud a deadly blast;
Shouts, and the noise of battle! the long main
Seemed with hoarse voice to answer as he passed.
The moody South went by, and silence kept;
The cloudy rack oft hid his mournful mien,
And frequent fell the showers, as if he wept
The eternal havoc of this mortal scene.
He had heard the yell, and cry,
And howling dance of Anarchy,
Where the Rhone, with rushing flood,
Murmured to the main, through blood:--
He seemed to wish he could for ever throw
His misty mantle o'er a world of woe.
But rousing him from his desponding trance,
Cold Eurus blew his...

William Lisle Bowles

To Winter

No longer Beauty's many-colour'd robe
Adorns the autumnal scene; no longer play
The Zephyrs with her tresses; she has fled
To happier regions, and has left the year
Naked and void of charms; the leafless woods
Tremble no more with rapture at the voice
Of harmony: ah! how is Nature changed!
Silent, and sad, she anxiously awaits
Thy coming, mighty King! and, as the sun
Less bright, less ardent, more and more declines
Towards the horizon, with alarm she marks
Thy shadow lengthening in the nightly shade
And towering o'er her, prostrate as she lies,
More threatening, more gigantic; till, at length,
Boreas, thy harbinger, forth-rushing fierce,
Tears from chill'd Autumn's head the withering Crown,
And blustering loud in her affrighted ear,
O Winter! tells thy te...

Thomas Oldham

Ode To Winter

When first the fiery-mantled sun
His heavenly race begun to run;
Round the earth and ocean blue,
His children four the Seasons flew.
First, in green apparel dancing,
The young Spring smiled with angel grace;
Rosy summer next advancing,
Rushed into her sire's embrace:
Her blue-haired sire, who bade her keep
For ever nearest to his smile,
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep,
On India's citron-covered isles:
More remote and buxom-brown,
The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne,
A rich pomegranate gemmed her gown,
A ripe sheaf bound her zone.
But howling Winter fled afar,
To hills that prop the polar star,
And lives on deer-borne car to ride
With barren darkness at his side,
Round the shore where loud Lofoden
Whirls to death the roaring whal...

Thomas Campbell

Winter.

Majestic King of storms! around
    Thy wan and hoary brow
A spotless diadem is bound
    Of everlasting snow:
Time, which dissolves all earthly things,
O'er thee hath vainly waved his wings!

The sun, with his refulgent beams,
    Thaws not thy icy zone;
Lord of ten thousand frozen streams,
    That sleep around thy throne,
Whose crystal barriers may defy
The genial warmth of summer's sky.

What human foot shall dare intrude
    Beyond the howling waste,
Or view the untrodden solitude,
    Where thy dark home is placed;
In those far realms of death where light
Shrieks from thy glance and all is night?

The earth has felt thine iron tread,
    The streams have ceased to flow,
The leaves beneath thy feet lie dead,
    And...

Susanna Moodie

Winter. A Dirge.

    The wintry west extends his blast,
        And hail and rain does blaw;
    Or the stormy north sends driving forth
        The blinding sleet and snaw;
    While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
        And roars frae bank to brae;
    And bird and beast in covert rest,
        And pass the heartless day.

    "The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"^[1]
        The joyless winter day
    Let others fear, to me more dear
        Than all the pride of May:
    The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
        My griefs it seems to join;
    The leafless trees my fancy please,
        Their fate resembles mine!

    Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
        These woes of mine fulfil,
    Here, firm, I rest, they must be ...

Robert Burns

Earth's Answer

Earth raised up her head
From the darkness dread and drear,
Her light fled,
Stony, dread,
And her locks covered with grey despair.

"Prisoned on watery shore,
Starry jealousy does keep my den
Cold and hoar;
Weeping o'er,
I hear the father of the ancient men.

"Selfish father of men!
Cruel, jealous, selfish fear!
Can delight,
Chained in night,
The virgins of youth and morning bear?

"Does spring hide its joy,
When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the plowman in darkness plough?

"Break this heavy chain,
That does freeze my bones around!
Selfish, vain,
Eternal bane,
That free love with bondage bound."

William Blake