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Editor's Selection of Poems
Winter

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The frost is here, 
And fuel is dear, 
And woods are sear, 
And fires burn clear, 
And frost is here 
And has bitten the heel of the going year. 

Bite, frost, bite! 
You roll up away from the light 
The blue wood-louse, and the plump dormouse, 
And the bees are still'd, and the flies are kill'd, 
And you bite far into the heart of the house, 
But not into mine. 

Bite, frost, bite! 
The woods are all the searer, 
The fuel is all the dearer, 
The fires are all the clearer, 
My spring is all the nearer, 
You have bitten into the heart of the earth, 
But not into mine.
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