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One must have a mind of winter 
To regard the frost and the boughs 
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; 

And have been cold a long time 
To behold the junipers shagged with ice, 
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
 
Of the January sun; and not to think 
Of any misery in the sound of the wind, 
In the sound of a few leaves, 

Which is the sound of the land 
Full of the same wind 
That is blowing in the same bare place
 
For the listener, who listens in the snow, 
And, nothing himself, beholds 
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is. 

Added: 24 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 11:47 PM | Viewed: 15888 times

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