Frozen Fire
The snow is ablaze,
Brilliant with each fiery crystal.
It’s white falling on white-
On the gleaming surface of the lake,
On the ice dripping from my roof,
Outside my window,
The curtains glowing,
Burning with a chilly fire.
I know I have to sleep,
Yet I cannot-
My attention is drawn.
All I manage is to keep on walking,
Giving me something to do.
The drifts are now moving
As if from an icy conflagration.
When at last the blaze
From the snow fades,
The glow from the darkness burns.
It is as though I am dreaming.
The surrounding hedges,
The trees,
And the distant peaks of mountains,
Are hanging like clouds,
In weightless suspension before me.
It seems I have a transparent veil
Across my line of vision
Blocking my eyes with fire,
But letting me see what I want-
With ice.
The fields on which I am standing,
Are a sea of unbroken white,
Like frothy waves that never end,
Never washing up on the surface of the sand.
When at last I climb into bed
At the fiery orange of the sunrise,
And rub my burning eyes,
The snow still falling has an eerie brilliance,
As though the night is somehow brighter than it should be.
But this poem shows everything of winter there is to like. 
