Thy brow is grit, thy robe with gems inwove;
And palaces of frost-work, on the eye,
Flash out, and gleam in every gorgeous dye,
The pencil, dipped in glorious things above,
Can bring to earth. Oh, thou art passing fair!
But cold and cheerless as the heart of death,
Without one warm, free pulse, one softening breath,
One soothing whisper for the ear of Care.
Fortune too has her Winter. In the Spring,
We watch the bud of promise; and the flower
Looks out upon us at the Summer hour;
And Autumn days the blessed harvest bring;
Then comes the reign of jewels rare, and gold,
When brows flash light, but hearts grow strangely cold.


About this poem
"Sonnet to Winter" was published in Emily Chubbuck Judson's book "Alderbrook" (W. D. Ticknor and Company, 1849).

About Emily Chubbuck Judson
Emily Chubbuck Judson was born in Eaton, N.Y., in 1817. She became a successful author using the pseudonym Fanny Forester, under which her book "Alderbrook" was published. Judson died in 1854.

***
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.


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