John Green on Winter

“What miracle of weird transforming   Is this wild work of frost and light,   This glimpse of glory infinite?”

“Make we here our camp of winter;   And, through sleet and snow, Pitchy knot and beechen splinter   On our hearth shall glow. Here, with mirth to lighten duty,   We shall lack alone Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty,   Childhood's lisping tone.”