Two Winter Poems

 The Darkling Thrush - Thomas Hardy

 I leant upon a coppice gate
            When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
             The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
             Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
             Had sought their household fires.

The Dipper - Kathleen Jamie

It was winter, near freezing,
I'd walked through a forest of firs
when I saw issue out of the waterfall
a solitary bird.

It lit on a damp rock,
and, as water swept stupidly on,
wrung from its own throat
supple, undammable song.

It isn't mine to give.
I can't coax this bird to my hand
that knows the depth of the river
yet sings of it on land.