make this the snowiest December on record for the Boston
It put me in mind of "Snowbound", a poem by John Greenleaf
Whittier that I had to read at some point at St Mathew's
Parochial School in Dorchester when I was a kid. It's a long
poem, but these lines from the first verse seem to suit
how December has been this year:
- "The sun that brief December day
- Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
- And, darkly circled, gave at noon
- A sadder light than waning moon.
- Slow tracing down the thickening sky
- Its mute and ominous prophecy,
- A portent seeming less than threat,
- It sank from sight before it set.
- A chill no coat, however stout,
- Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
- A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
- That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
- Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
- The coming of the snow-storm told."