Thoughts on reading, writing, and publishing
Tis done! Dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
— George Thompson Hutchinson
And reigns tremendous o’er the conquered year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His desolate domain. Behold fond man!
See here thy pictured life: pass some few years,
Thy flowering spring, thy summer’s ardent strength,
Thy sober autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding winter comes at last.
Every valley drinks,
Every dell and hollow:
Where the kind rain sinks and sinks,
Green of Spring will follow.Yet a lapse of weeks
Buds will burst their edges,
Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks,
In the woods and hedges;Weave a bower of love
For birds to meet each other,
Weave a canopy above
Nest and egg and mother.But for fattening rain
We should have no flowers,
Never a bud or leaf again
But for soaking showers;Never a mated bird
In the rocking tree-tops,
Never indeed a flock or herd
To graze upon the lea-crops.Lambs so woolly white,
Sheep the sun-bright leas on,
They could have no grass to bite
But for rain in season.We should find no moss
In the shadiest places,
Find no waving meadow-grass
Pied with broad-eyed daisies;But miles of barren sand,
— Christina G. Rossetti
With never a son or daughter,
Not a lily on the land,
Or lily on the water.
