Walter de la Mare
by Walter de la Mare ( 1873- 1956)
Clouded with snow The cold winds blow,
And shrill on leafless bough The robin with its burning breast Alone sings now.
The rayless sun, Day’s journey done, Sheds its last ebbing light On fields in leagues of beauty spread Unearthly white.
Thick draws the dark, And spark by spark, The frost- fires kindle, and soon Over that sea of frozen foam Floats the white moon.
The snow is deep at Black Isle in the Scottish Highlands.
A robin with ruffled feathers rests in a snowy hedge.
Walkers in Snowdonia on a day when the National Park lives up to its name.