WINTER 



" I, singularly moved 

 To love the lovely that are not beloved, 

 Of all the Seasons, most 

 Love Winter, and to trace 

 The sense of the Trophonian pallor on her face. 

 It is not death, but plenitude of peace ; 

 And the dim cloud that does the world enfold 

 Hath less the characters of dark and cold 

 Than warmth and light asleep, 

 And correspondent breathing seems to keep 

 With the infant harvest, breathing soft below 

 Its eider coverlet of snow. 

 Nor is in field or garden anything 

 But, duly looked into, contains serene 

 The substance of things hoped for, in the Spring, 

 And evidence of Summer not yet seen." 



Coventry Patmore. 



161 



