Dry leaves upon the wall,
    Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape,
    A single frosted cluster on the grape
  Still hangs—­and that is all.
November.  S.C.  WOOLSEY (Susan Coolidge).

  WINTER.

  Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frize,
  Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill;
  Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freeze,
  And the dull drops that from his purple bill
  As from a limbeck did adown distill;
  In his right hand a tipped staff he held
  With which his feeble steps he stayed still,
  For he was faint with cold and weak with eld,
  That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to weld.
Faerie Queene, Bk.  VII.  E. SPENSER.

                     Chaste as the icicle,
  That’s curded by the frost from purest snow,
  And hangs on Dian’s temple:  dear Valeria!
Coriolanus, Act v.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

Silently as a dream the fabric rose,
No sound of hammer or of saw was there. 
Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts
Were soon conjoined.
The Task:  Winter Morning Walk.  W. COWPER

                       When we shall hear
  The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
  In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
  The freezing hours away?
Cymbeline, Act iii.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapors, and Clouds, and Storms.
The Seasons:  Winter.  J. THOMSON.

  From snow-topped hills the whirlwinds keenly blow,
  Howl through the woods, and pierce the vales below,
  Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
  Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies.
Inebriety G. CRABBE.

    Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep
  The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep! 
  Though boundless snows the withered heath deform,
  And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm,
  Yet shall the smile of social love repay,
  With mental light, the melancholy day! 
  And, when its short and sullen noon is o’er,
  The ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore,
  How bright the fagots in his little hall
  Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall!
The Pleasures of Hope.  T. CAMPBELL.

Look! the massy trunks
Are cased in the pure crystal; each light spray,
Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven,
Is studded with its trembling water-drops,
That glimmer with an amethystine light.
A Winter Piece.  W.C.  BRYANT.

                             Come when the rains
  Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice,
  While the slant sun of February pours
  Into the bowers a flood of light.  Approach! 
  The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps.
A Winter Piece.  W.C.  BRYANT.