Snow Poems | Winter’s Wonder Poems about Snow

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    Dreams Poem by Langston Hughes

    Hold fast to dreams
    For if dreams die
    Life is a broken-winged bird
    That cannot fly.
    Hold fast to dreams
    For when dreams go
    Life is a barren field
    Frozen with snow.

     

     

    Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening Poem 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.

     

     

    Beauty Xxv Poem by Kahlil Gibran

    And a poet said, ‘Speak to us of Beauty.’

    Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?

    And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

    The aggrieved and the injured say, ‘Beauty is kind and gentle.

    Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.’

    And the passionate say, ‘Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.

    Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.’

    The tired and the weary say, ‘beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.

    Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.’

    But the restless say, ‘We have heard her shouting among the mountains,

    And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.’

    At night the watchmen of the city say, ‘Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east.’

    And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, ‘we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.’

    In winter say the snow-bound, ‘She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.’

    And in the summer heat the reapers say, ‘We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.’

    All these things have you said of beauty.

    Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

    And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

    It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

    But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

    It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,

    But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

    It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,

    But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

    People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

    But you are life and you are the veil.

    Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

    But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

     

     

    Desert Places Poem by Robert Frost

    Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
    In a field I looked into going past,
    And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
    But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

    The woods around it have it – it is theirs.
    All animals are smothered in their lairs.
    I am too absent-spirited to count;
    The loneliness includes me unawares.

    And lonely as it is, that loneliness
    Will be more lonely ere it will be less –
    A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
    WIth no expression, nothing to express.

    They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
    Between stars – on stars where no human race is.
    I have it in me so much nearer home
    To scare myself with my own desert places.

     

     

    Nocturnal Snowing Poem by Fabrizio Frosini

    «Let this fluffy snow fall upon our
    Dreams and make them shine! »

    Set free,
    Your breath smoothens unshaken skies;
    Your perception scratches unopened realities.

    Is it a diversion -maybe- for lost thoughts,
    For lost faces and sins?

    Looking the other way out of fear or
    Embarrassment, waking up next morning,
    You should then learn
    How to keep alive the drowsing mind,
    While trying to shove away
    Her plait of hair,
    Jammed in the eyes of memory.

    Ah.. Those haunting memories!

    Was her pain real
    When she asserted «That one is my spoiled dress!
    My party dress
    Which your eyes, filled with lust, tore off of me..»?

    Hardly a twist of fate that
    Multivalent perception which made
    Visionary —Fanciful
    Your unnecessary waiting.

    Because she didn’t come back.
    Even at dawn. Even in your expectation.

    Now your pain screams only through silence
    When you sink your fingers deep
    Into your bleeding heart —A sheer grief
    With no voice anymore
    Because day in day out, year after year
    Everything becomes habit.

    Until,
    Gazing at the fluffy snow falling, you
    Caught a glimpse of her —Along with a
    Whiff of her perfume..

    Peering deeply into your eyes
    She spoke words of hope
    Along with a promise -possibly-:

    « A new life is looming beyond the whitened
    Fields of your mind »

    Hushed words, uttered under her breath,
    Not to scrape the purity of the night.

    Was it a prophecy?
    The celebration of a triumph or a
    Failure —A bloodcurdling nightmare?

    Enough! I’m fed up!

    I stare at my bloody fingers
    And faintly sigh.

     

     

    A Patch Of Old Snow Poem by Robert Frost

    There’s a patch of old snow in a corner
    That I should have guessed
    Was a blow-away paper the rain
    Had brought to rest.

    It is speckled with grime as if
    Small print overspread it,
    The news of a day I’ve forgotten —
    If I ever read it.

     

     

    Ah Sunflower Poem by William Blake

    Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
    Who countest the steps of the sun;
    Seeking after that sweet golden clime
    Where the traveller’s journey is done;

    Where the Youth pined away with desire,
    And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
    Arise from their graves, and aspire
    Where my Sunflower wishes to go!

     

     

    Still Here Poem by Langston Hughes

    been scarred and battered.
    My hopes the wind done scattered.
    Snow has friz me,
    Sun has baked me,

    Looks like between ’em they done
    Tried to make me

    Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’-
    But I don’t care!
    I’m still here!

     

     

    Dust Of Snow Poem by Robert Frost

    The way a crow
    Shook down on me
    The dust of snow
    From a hemlock tree

    Has given my heart
    A change of mood
    And saved some part
    Of a day I had rued.

     

     

    Poem Poem by Simon Armitage

    And if it snowed and snow covered the drive
    he took a spade and tossed it to one side.
    And always tucked his daughter up at night
    And slippered her the one time that she lied.
    And every week he tipped up half his wage.
    And what he didn’t spend each week he saved.
    And praised his wife for every meal she made.
    And once, for laughing, punched her in the face.

    And for his mum he hired a private nurse.
    And every Sunday taxied her to church.
    And he blubbed when she went from bad to worse.
    And twice he lifted ten quid from her purse.

    Here’s how they rated him when they looked back:
    sometimes he did this, sometimes he did that.