One must have a mind of
To regard the frost and the
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant
Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the
Full of the same
That is blowing in the same bare
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself,
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
