The North Wind Doth Blow | Picture Books In Winter | Snowball | Story in the Snow | Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening | Winter Blanket | Winter Time | |
The North Wind Doth Blow | Picture Books In Winter | Snowball | Story in the Snow | Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening | Winter Blanket | Winter Time | |
Winter Poetry
Dragon
Smoke
by Lillian Moore
Breathe and blow
white clouds
with every puff.
It's cold today,
cold enough
to see your breath.
Huff!
Breathe dragon smoke
today!
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First Snow
by Marie Louise Allen
Snow makes whiteness where it falls.
The bushes look like popcorn-balls.
The places where I always play
Look like somewhere else today.
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Jack Frost
by Helen Bayley Davis
Someone painted pictures on my
Windowpane last night --
Willow trees with trailing boughs
And flowers, frosty white,
And lovely crystal butterflies;
But when the morning sun
Touched them with its golden beams,
They vanished one by one.
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The North Wind Doth Blow
traditional
The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then,
Poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn,
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing.
The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the dormouse do then,
Poor thing?
Roll'd up like a ball,
In his nest snug and small,
He'll sleep till warm weather comes in,
Poor thing.
The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the children do then,
Poor things?
When lessons are done,
They must skip hump, and run,
Until they have made themselves warm,
Poor things.
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Picture Books in Winter
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?
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Snowball
by Shel Silverstein
I made myself a snow ball as perfect as could be.
I thought I'd keep it as a pet and let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas and a pillow for it's head.
Then, last night it ran away.
But first -- it wet the bed.
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A Story in the Snow
by Pearl Riggs Crouch
This morning, as I walked to school
Across the fluffy snow,
I came upon a bunny's tracks --
A jumping, zigzag row.
He must have hurried very fast,
For here and there I saw
Along his jerky, winding trail
The print of Rover's paw.
I set my lunch pail on the snow
And stood there very still,
For only Rover's clumsy tracks
Led down the little hill.
Then suddenly I thought I heard
A rustling sound close by;
And there within a grassy clump
Shone bunny's twinkling eye.
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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
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.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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Winter Blanket
by Ada L. Wine
The snow is like a blanket that
God spreads across the land,
Where wheat and oats and barley sleep,
Awaiting God's command.
It covers all the pasture fields,
And hides the grasses brown:
It gives the bare, gray willow tree
A clinging, wooly gown.
It wraps around a fencepost tall,
And covers up its head,
Then drifts along the meadow banks
To tuck the creek in bed.
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Winter Time
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.
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