If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant:
if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would
not be so welcome. (Anne Bradstreet)
January is here, with eyes that keenly glow,
A frost-mailed warrior,
striding a shadowy steed of snow.
He has made everything beautiful in his time.
For he saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth;
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.