The Anthology of Poetry with Frosty Themes

Kwan Yin Ma

Jamie Thomas

ENGL2306, 07971

5 December 2007

The Anthology of Poetry with Frosty Themes: Introduction

Nature is a significant part of poetry. Many famous poets incorporate nature in their masterpieces in order to create numerous different types of enhancing effects. Originally, I had planned to construct an anthology revolving around the theme of Nature. However, with the aid of Professor Thomas, I realized that the topic was way too broad for this assignment, and an anthology of poetry with similar themes of Nature will most likely take an entire book to cover. Since we are in the midst of winter with temperatures dropping significantly and the holidays right around the corner, I thought to myself, “What can be more suitable than a collection of winter poems?” As a result, I turned to poems specifically relating to winter. I noticed throughout this semester that many poets have a tendency to write about the wintry season, usually associating winter with negative aspects of life. After researching an abundance of poems with winter themes, I learned that poems relating to winter are not always dark and gloomy; they can be joyful and hopeful as well.

The Anthology of Poetry with Frosty Themes is organized by beginning with poems that portray winter negatively and transitions to poems that describe the positive aspects of the season. The unique part of this anthology’s title, “Frosty Themes,” originates from the title of one of my discussions earlier this semester that talks about the recurring themes of the assigned readings by Robert Frost. I believe the spark of interest that motivated me to create this collection came from that discussion.

I decided to begin my anthology with an extremely popular piece by a very famous poet, Thomas Hardy. “The Darkling Thrush” is the epitome of a poem that makes use of winter in a negative way. Hardy incorporates words like “desolate” (3), “haunted” (7), “corpse” (10), and “gloom” (24) in this poem in order to create a very depressing and gloomy tone. In addition, with these types of words, it is as if Thomas Hardy is comparing winter with the dead. When I am reading “The Darkling Thrush,” I picture a freezing, pitch-black night in a cemetery.

Winter is also associated with old age by poets like Robert Frost and Edith Nesbit. When one thinks about old age, he or she will most likely think of being alone, the coming of death, and the end of life. This is exactly what Frost’s “An Old Man’s Winter Night” is in relation to. One particular line stuck out to me the most: “One aged man—one man—can’t fill a house” (Frost 26). I believe this line contains the main idea of what the poet was trying to convey. Houses are not designed for a single person; they are built for families. As one gets old, his or her significant other may pass away, and the children will move out of the house and form their own families, leaving the aged with nothing but loneliness. When winter comes around, the house will be extra quiet and cold. The warmth of a family will not be present to mend the winter hardships as well. Every day is just another step closer to death.

Another poem that links winter with death is Ralph Burns’ “Fishing in Winter.” A semi-new concept is brought about in this piece. Burns starts with the stanza:

A man staring at a small lake sees

His father cast light line out over

The willows. He's forgotten his

Father has been dead for two years

And the lake is where a blue fog

Rolls, and the sky could be, if it

Were black or blue or white,

The backdrop of all attention. (1-8)

The loneliness from the loss of a father causes the man to hallucinate. He has illusions of his father, who died two years ago. The man also imagines that the river is the sky. It is a possibility that the man in this poem is meeting his father in heaven, meaning that he may have committed suicide by walking into the lake and drowning. This can be one interpretation from the lines: “He wades out to join the father,/ Following where the good strikes/ Seem to lead. It’s cold” (Burns 9-11). The coldness of a winter day can maybe signify the nearing of death.

As a transition from such a melancholy topic to a more cheerful subject, I chose the poem “Winter And Summer” by Arthur Weir. “Winter And Summer” reminds us of all the great and joyful things winter brings; the poem speaks of winter very optimistically. The part that makes this a very suiting transition poem is the last stanza.

But Summer, winsome Summer,

Holds greater stores of bliss,

When all the land awakens,

And blossoms at her kiss;

We soon shall feel her presence,

And breathe her perfumed breath,

Then, Winter, dear old Winter,

We will not mourn your death. (Weir 41-48)

Even though winter has its advantages, it is still not the preferred season. When summer comes, no one will feel sad that winter is over.

In his poem “Winter-Time,” Robert Louis Stevenson describes the winter sun perfectly and in a unique way through the first stanza.

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;

Blinks but an hour or two; and then,

A blood-red orange, sets again. (Stevenson 1-4)

During winter, the sun does not come out for a long period of time. Winter days are mostly dark and consist of little sunlight. I believe the reason many poems regarding winter are sad and gloomy is because of the darkness. Robert Stevenson, on the other hand, does not view the sun-less winter as depressing. He thinks the “tree and house, and hill and lake,/ Are frosted like a wedding-cake” (Stevenson 19-20). This last line in “Winter-Time” basically sums up Stevenson’s opinion of winter. He sees it as frosting on a cake.

Opposite to “The Darkling Thrush,” William Makepeace Thackeray’s “The Mahogany Tree” contains very positive words. Thackeray uses words like “Happy” (26), “Pleasant” (28), “Gentle” (30), “Peace” (31) to describe the holiday season. With Christmas in December, William Thackeray views winter as a wonderful season. He also portrays winter as a time when one is free of worries.

Sorrows, begone!

Life and its ills,

Duns and their bills,

Bid we to flee. (Thackeray 49-53)

All of the troubles that one has to go through in life will all disappear in the wintry season.

After including poems that depict winter negatively and also ones that describe winter positively, I end my anthology with an incredibly strong and powerful poem. In “The Snow Man,” Wallace Stevens is arguing that most people’s perception of winter is negative, but winter is actually really admirable. Winter is usually seen as a dull and lonely time of the year. Stevens believes that you “have to have a mind of winter” (1) in order to enjoy the season, and you have to patiently observe out in the cold in order to see the wonders of winter (4).

The perception of winter is truly based on what each poet wants winter to be. In addition to creating a collection of enjoyable poems relating to winter, I hope the readers of my anthology realize that life is also what you make of it. There will always be a good and a bad side. I hope that everyone will choose to view his or her life as beautifully as a frosty winter. Happy Holidays!

The Anthology of Poetry with Frosty Themes

The Darkling Thrush

by Thomas Hardy

I leant upon a coppice gate

When Frost was spectre-gray,

And Winter's dregs made desolate

The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be

The Century's corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.

An Old Man’s Winter Night

by Robert Frost

All out of doors looked darkly in at him

Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,

That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.

What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze

Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.

What kept him from remembering what it was

That brought him to that creaking room was age.

He stood with barrels round him—at a loss.

And having scared the cellar under him

In clomping there, he scared it once again

In clomping off;—and scared the outer night,

Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar

Of trees and crack of branches, common things,

But nothing so like beating on a box.

A light he was to no one but himself

Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,

A quiet light, and then not even that.

He consigned to the moon, such as she was,

So late-arising, to the broken moon

As better than the sun in any case

For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,

His icicles along the wall to keep;

And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt

Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,

And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.

One aged man—one man—can’t fill a house,

A farm, a countryside, or if he can,

It’s thus he does it of a winter night.

Winter

by E. (Edith) Nesbit

Hold your hands to the blaze;

Winter is here

With the short cold days,

Bleak, keen and drear.

Was there ever a day

With hawthorn along the way

Where you wandered in mild mid-May

With your dear?

That was when you were young

And the world was gold;

Now all the songs are sung,

The tales all told.

You shiver now by the fire

Where the last red sparks expire;

Dead are delight and desire:

You are old.

Fishing in Winter

by Ralph Burns

A man staring at a small lake sees

His father cast light line out over

The willows. He's forgotten his

Father has been dead for two years

And the lake is where a blue fog

Rolls, and the sky could be, if it

Were black or blue or white,

The backdrop of all attention.

He wades out to join the father,

Following where the good strikes

Seem to lead. It's cold. The shape

Breath takes on a cold day is like

Anything else--a rise on a small lake,

The Oklahoma hills, blue scrub--

A shape already inside a shape,

Two songs, two breaths on the water.

Winter And Summer

by Arthur Weir

Come Winter, merry Winter,

Rejoice while yet you may,

For nearer, ever nearer,

Fair Summer draws each day,

And soon the tiny snowdrops

Shall waken from their sleep,

And, mossy banks from under,

The modest violets peep.

The apple trees shall scatter

Their buds at Summer’s feet,

And with their fragrant odors

Make every zephyr sweet;

While Nature, of wild roses,

And lilies frail and white,

Shall make a wreath for Summer,

And crown her with delight.

Forth from the smiling heavens

Shall fall the gentle rain,

The earth shall feel her presence

And welcome her with grain;

The birds shall come and twitter,

And build amid the boughs,

So Winter, merry Winter,

While yet you may, carouse.

We love you, merry Winter,

You and the joys you bring,

And loud and long your praises

Throughout the world we sing;

But Summer, gentle Summer,

Comes shyly through the glade,

And draws all hearts to love her,

So fair is she arrayed.

We love the merry sleighing,

The swinging snowshoe tramp,

While in the clear, cold heavens

The calm moon holds her lamp,

We love the breathless coasting.

The skating and the games

Played amid shouts of laughter,

Around the hearth-fire flames.

But Summer, winsome Summer,

Holds greater stores of bliss,

When all the land awakens,

And blossoms at her kiss;

We soon shall feel her presence,

And breathe her perfumed breath,

Then, Winter, dear old Winter,

We will not mourn your death.

Winter-Time

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;

Blinks but an hour or two; and then,

A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,

At morning in the dark I rise;

And shivering in my nakedness,

By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit

To warm my frozen bones a bit;

Or with a reindeer-sled, explore

The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap

Me in my comforter and cap;

The cold wind burns my face, and blows

Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;

Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;

And tree and house, and hill and lake,

Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

The Mahogany Tree

by William Makepeace Thackeray

Christmas is here;

Winds whistle shrill,

Icy and chill,

Little care we;

Little we fear

Weather without,

Shelter’d about

The Mahogany Tree.

Once on the boughs

Birds of rare plume

Sang, in its bloom;

Night birds are we;

Here we carouse,

Singing, like them,

Perch’d round the stem

Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,

Boys, as we sit—

Laughter and wit

Flashing so free.

Life is but short—

When we are gone,

Let them sing on,

Round the old tree.

Evenings we knew,

Happy as this;

Faces we miss,

Pleasant to see.

Kind hearts and true,

Gentle and just,

Peace to your dust!

We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun,

Lurks at the gate:

Let the dog wait;

Happy we ’ll be!

Drink every one;

Pile up the coals,

Fill the red bowls,

Round the old tree.

Drain we the cup.—

Friend, art afraid?

Spirits are laid

In the Red Sea.

Mantle it up;

Empty it yet;

Let us forget,

Round the old tree.

Sorrows, begone!

Life and its ills,

Duns and their bills,

Bid we to flee.

Come with the dawn,

Blue-devil sprite,

Leave us to-night,

Round the old tree.

The Snow Man

by Wallace Stevens

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.

Works Cited

Burns, Ralph. “Fishing in Winter.” Cleveland: Cleveland State, 1983. 25 Nov. 2007

.

Frost, Robert. “An Old Man’s Winter Night.” Mountain Interval. New York: Henry Holt and

Company, 1920; Bartleby.com, 1999. 25 Nov. 2007 .

Hardy, Thomas. “The Darkling Thrush.” The Norton Anthology of Poetry. Ed. Margaret

Ferguson, Mary Jo Salter and Jon Stallworthy. 4^th ed. New York: Norton, 1996. 1052.

Nesbit, Edith. “Winter.” Poetry X. Ed. Jough Dempsey. 8 Sep 2006. 25 Nov. 2007

.

Stevens, Wallace. "The Snow Man." The Norton Anthology of Poetry. Ed. Margaret Ferguson,

Mary Jo Salter and Jon Stallworthy. 4^th ed. New York: Norton, 1996. 1150.

Stevenson, Robert Louis. “Winter-Time.” A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. New

York: Current Literature, 1906; Bartleby.com, 2000. 25 Nov. 2007

.

Thackeray, William Makepeace. “The Mahogany Tree.” A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. Ed.

Edmund Clarence Stedman. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1895; Bartleby.com, 2003. 25

Nov. 2007 .

Weir, Arthur. “Winter And Summer.” Poetry X. Ed. Jough Dempsey. 8 Sep 2006. 25 Nov. 2007

.