The trees are leafless, a wetland succeeded Entombed, half-swallowed, from year to year, Noisy, twinkling, balmy reeds, now muted, Where the vapour hovers, through icy fathoms here.

The distance dances under the quickening light, Reflecting its power back to the earth, In this mini-world of the wintry night, Where warmth and beauty met, and have mingled with mirth.

• Thomas Hardy