Then welcome, cold, welcome, ye snowy nights!
Heaven midst your rage shall mingle pure delights.
And confidence of hope the soul sustain,
While devastation sweeps along the plain:
Nor shall the child of poverty despair,
But bless the Power that rules the changing year;
Assured, though horrors round his cottage reign,
That Spring will come, and Nature smile again.

–Robert Bloomfield (1766–1823)

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