A widow bird sate mourning for her love
Upon a wintry bough;
The frozen wind crept on above,
The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
No flower upon the ground,
And little motion in the air
Except the mill wheel`s sound.
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Over the wintry fields the snow drifts, falling, falling,
Its frozen burden filling each hollow.And hark,
Out of the naked woods a wild bird calling,
On the starless verge of the dark.
By Walter de la Mare