Dead Chillness reigns. And yet my heart would say –
“Winter! I love thee well.” Though birds forlorn
Send no glad anthem from the snowy spray,
Yet gushing melodies are hither borne
From infant Dearne. Drear in the early morn
Ye seem, wild Alpine woods! – that guard this child
Of moorland springs, – ye summer-green, all torn;
Yet, Winter gives a garment undefiled
Of snowflakes light. Joy now the day-beam brings,
And sun-tipp’d gems light up the frozen wild…

Thomas Lister,  ‘Winter Scene [In the wooded valley below Dearne Spring]’,
from The Yorkshire Magazine, Vol.I, no.IV, January 1872, p.121