From Robert Frost:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

– From Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

From 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

– From The Snow Man

From Elinor Wylie:

Let us walk in the white snow
In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
At a tranquil pace,
Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk,
And you in wool,
White as white cow’s milk,
More beautiful
Than the breast of a gull.

We shall walk through the still town
In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
Upon silver fleece,
Upon softer than these.

We shall walk in velvet shoes:
Wherever we go
Silence will fall like dews
On white silence below.
We shall walk in the snow.

– Velvet Shoes

From William Moore:

Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love,
I see the Sunlit leaves of changing hue
Burn clear against a sky of tender blue,
Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love.
Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love,
I hear the low tone bells of changing song

– From Here in the Time of the Winter Morn

From Marge Piercy:

I repent better in the waning
season when the blood
runs swiftly and all creatures
look keenly about them
for quickening danger.

– From The late year

From Carl Sandburg:

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

– From Fog

From Maxwell Bodenheim:

Sedate and archaic, a twilight-frilled haze
Walks over the meadows like rolled-out centuries
Quivering in sprightly welcome.
Trees pushed down by silence;
Trees lolling in comely abandon;
Trees pungently flamboyant,
Their leaves spinning in the wind’s golden elusiveness.

– From Minna (IX)

From Lisel Mueller:

How swiftly the strained honey
of afternoon light
flows into darkness

– From In Passing

From Vievee Francis:

Don’t you see? I am shedding my skins. I am a paper hive, a wolf spider,
the creeping ivy, the ache of a birch, a heifer, a doc. I have fallen from my dream
of progress: the clear-cut glass, the potted and balconied tree, the lemon-waxed
wood over a marbled pillar, into my own nocturne. The lullabies I had forgotten.
How could I know what slept inside?

– From Another Antipastoral

From Vanessa Angélica Villarreal:

I was a good wife

and an even better
wolf, jawed to a thicket of lonely
lungs trees I mean breathing, comet
come to me, come
a lone light, like the fire
that rips the mountainside’s
dress, I was a good
ununderstood

– From I Was a Good Wife