Winter (RLS)

Winter (RLS)
In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane
The redbreast looks in vain
For hips and haws,
Lo, shining flowers upon my window pane
The silver pencil of the winter draws.

When all the snowy hill
And the bare woods are still;
When snipes are silent in the frozen bogs,
And all the garden garth is whelmed in mire,
Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs – 
More fair than roses, lo, the flowers of fire! 
Robert Louis Stevenson

No. XVIII of Songs of Travel 

from The Collected Poems of Robert Louis Stevenson, edited by Roger C. Lewis (Edinburgh University Press, 2003)

Robert Louis Stevenson

It is sadly ironic that one of the writers who wrote best about Scotland and the Scottish character was not able to live in the country, and died far from his native land, a novel imbued with the essence of Scotland under his pen on the day he died.

 

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