THE JOY OF WINTER 31 
accentuated by the tempest outside. To this 
indoor comfort does Whittier’s idyl, “Snow- 
bound,” owe its enticements. Outside, the wild 
wind furious for journey, the melancholy moan- 
ing in the chimney or at the window sill, and the 
fierce shrieking in the resistful trees; inside, the 
calm like the calm of God, love and each other, 
and the snatch of song and the quick jest and 
the multitudinous laughter, and after all, the 
folding of the hands to pray to the good God 
of winter’s storm and heart’s-ease—this is like 
winter and summer joined into one to make 
an evening of divergent yet perfect delight. 
The winter snows bank high and work arabesques 
and carven work of Pentelic beauty and snows 
shape into curves such as only quaint Giotto knew 
to make, and hills and valleys such as God dwells 
in else he had not made so many. Frieze and me- 
tope, staircase and arched work and ribband work 
of cloud whiteness and cloud daintiness, and the 
wind raging like a mad lion yet creating all the while 
those things rhythmical as poetry—so winter doth. 
Brave winter, brawny winter, ruddy-cheeked 
winter with eyebrows white with frost and chin 
icicled like roof eaves, winter with blustering 
manners but a manly heart going on all fields 
as to trample life from their breasts, but in sober 
and inspiring truth trampling with frozen feet 
the field’s breast into fertility and harvests 
yellow as old gold—winter, let all such as love 
things mighty love thee now and love thee ever! 
