Winter comes to water as well as to land, though there are no leaves to fall.
“Though I’ve roamed through many places,
None there is that my heart troweth
Fair as that wherein fair groweth
One whose laud here interlaces
Tuneful words, that I’ve essayed.
Let this tune be gently played
Which my voice herward upraises.”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: To Be Sung Beneath a Window”