Snow

"Lumi teki enkelin eteiseen. (Hector) (A house left behind when people had to move to Sweden or southern Finland after work)"

"But pleasures are like poppies spread— You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river— A moment white—then melts forever."

"The Hyla breed That shouted in the mist a month ago, Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow."

"The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock treeHas given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued."

"If, as they say, some dust thrown in my eyes Will keep my talk from getting overwise, I'm not the one for putting off the proof. Let it be overwhelming, off a roof And round a corner, blizzard snow for dust, And blind me to a standstill if it must."

"But he sent her Good-by, And said to be good, And wear her red hood, And look for skunk tracks In the snow with an ax — And do everything!"

"Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow."

"The snow was getting so deep they could hardly drag their little legs through it, and the trees were thicker and more like each other than ever. There seemed to be no end to this wood, and no beginning, and no difference in it, and worst of all, no way out."

"My! it was fine, coming through the snow as the red sun was rising and showing against the black tree trunks! As you went along in the stillness, every now and then masses of snow slid off the branches suddenly with a flop! making you jump and run for cover. Snow castles and snow caverns had sprung up out of nowhere in the night-and snow bridges, terraces, ramparts-I could have stayed and played with them for hours."

"Then, on the silence of the snows there lay A Sabbath's quiet sunshine,—and its bell Filled the hushed air awhile, with lonely sway; For the stream's voice was chained by Winter's spell, The deep wood-sounds had ceased."

"琴詩酒友皆抛我 雪月花時最憶君"

"国境のトンネルを越えると雪国であった。夜の底が白くなった。"

"Huey: Days like this, I look out at all the snow and think. Man, this is beautiful… Then I wonder – is it really beautiful, or have we just been conditioned to think of everything “white” as beautiful? Is my mind, perhaps, not as liberated from the slave mentality as I thought? Then I think, what if snow were brown? Would I find it as nice to look at, or would it look “dirty”? Is this indicative that somewhere within my subconscious lurks some heretofore undiscovered self-hate?"

"...the wind had dropped, and the snow, tired of rushing around in circles trying to catch itself up, now fluttered gently down until it found a place on which to rest, and sometimes the place was Pooh's nose and sometimes it wasn't and in a little while Piglet was wearing a white muffler round his neck and feeling more snowy behind the ears than he had ever felt before."

"Snow forms mainly when water vapor turns to ice without going through the liquid stage. This process is called deposition. Snow can form in the gentle updrafts of stratus clouds or at high altitudes in very cold regions of a thunderstorm. Snowflakes that most of us are used to seeing are not individual snow crystals, but are actually aggregates, or collections, of snow crystals that stick or otherwise attach to each other. Aggregates can grow to very large sizes compared to individual snow crystals."

"In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago."

"When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town."

"Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies; The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air."

"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm."

"Come, see the north-wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion."

"Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow."

"Where's the snow That fell the year that's fled—where's the snow?"

"Notre Dame des Neiges."

"Sancta Maria ad Nives."

"As I saw fair Chloris walk alone, The feather'd snow came softly down, As Jove, descending from his tow'r To court her in a silver show'r. The wanton snow flew to her breast, As little birds into their nest; But o'ercome with whiteness there, For grief dissolv'd into a tear. Thence falling on her garment hem, To deck her, froze into a gem."

"Mais où sont les neiges d'antan? C'estoit le plus grand soucy qu'eust Villon, le poëte parisien."

"A little snow, tumbled about, anon becomes a mountain."

"O that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water drops!"

"For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back."

"Lawn as white as driven snow."

"Mais où sont les neiges d'antan?"

"O the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling the sky and earth below; Over the house-tops, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet, Dancing, flirting, skimming along."

"Lo, sifted through the winds that blow, Down comes the soft and silent snow, White petals from the flowers that grow In the cold atmosphere."