Winter by Coventry Patmore

from The Unknown Eros

I, singularly moved
To love the lovely that are not beloved,
Of all the Seasons, most
Love Winter, and to trace
The sense of the Trophonian* pallor on her face.
It is not death, but plenitude of peace;
And the dim cloud that does the world enfold
Hath less the characters of dark and cold
Than warmth and light asleep,
And correspondent breathing seems to keep
With the infant harvest, breathing soft below
Its eider coverlet of snow.
Nor is in field or garden anything
But, duly looked into, contains serene
The substance of things hoped for, in the Spring,
And evidence of Summer not yet seen....


*********

It goes on, but that is taste enough of what really moved me about this poem. I can't believe I've never encountered this poem (or this poet, friend to Hopkins and the Brownings) before.

Click here for the rest of the poem. Warning: May contain 19C gushings.

*Trophonias is the fabled builder of Apollo's temple at Delphi.