
The cold winds blow,
And robin with its burning breast
Alone sings now".

Day`s journey done,
Sheds its last ebbing light,
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.

And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.
Walter de la Mare.

The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves.
Sylvia Plath.
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