O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not they roofs
Nor bend they pillars with thine iron car.

He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed
In ribbed steel; I dare not life mine eyes;
For he hath rear'd his scepter o'er the world.

Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and in his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch! that deal'st
With storms, till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driven yelling to his caves beneath Mount Hecla.


About this poem
"To Winter" was published in William Blake's collection "Poetical Sketches" (1783).

About William Blake
William Blake was born in London on Nov. 28, 1757. His most popular collections include "Songs of Innocence" (1789) and "Songs of Experience" (1794). He died in 1827.

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This poem is in the public domain. Distributed by King Features Syndicate