“In Winter’s bleak uncomfortable reign,
A snowy inundation hides the plain:
Jove stills the winds, and bids the skies to sleep;
Then pours the silent tempest thick and deep:
And first the mountain tops are covered o’er,
Then the green fields, and then the sandy shore;
Bent with the weight the nodding woods are seen,
And one bright waste hides all the works of men:
The circling seas alone, absorbing all,
Drink the dissolving fleeces as they fall”—Pope.