The Snow Man

　　　　　　by Wallace Stevens

　　One must have a mind of winter

　　To regard the frost and the boughs

　　Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

　　And have been cold a long time

　　To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

　　The spruces rough in the distant glitter.

　　Of the January sun; and not to think

　　Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

　　In the sound of a few leaves.

　　Which is the sound of the land

　　Full of the same wind

　　That is blowing in the same bare place.

　　For the listener, who listens in the snow,

　　And, nothing himself, beholds

　　Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.