The holly bush, a sober lump of green, <br />Shines through the leafless shrubs all brown and grey, <br />And smiles at winter be it eer so keen <br />With all the leafy luxury of May. <br />And O it is delicious, when the day <br />In winter's loaded garment keenly blows <br />And turns her back on sudden falling snows, <br />To go where gravel pathways creep between <br />Arches of evergreen that scarce let through <br />A single feather of the driving storm; <br />And in the bitterest day that ever blew <br />The walk will find some places still and warm <br />Where dead leaves rustle sweet and give alarm <br />To little birds that flirt and start away.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-walk-3/
