{"id":8028,"date":"2022-03-20T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-03-20T05:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=8028"},"modified":"2022-03-20T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2022-03-20T05:00:00","slug":"the-glories-of-winter","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/the-glories-of-winter\/","title":{"rendered":"The Glories of Winter"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From the <\/em>Rock Island Argus, March 20, 1914<\/em><\/a>. By Henry Howland.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I met him on the corner where I saw his breath congeal,
And he spoke from furs that covered him almost from head to heel;
\u201cAh, but this is lovely weather! Stirs a fellow\u2019s blood, you know;
If I could I think I\u2019d always have it ten degrees below;
Take a cold bath every morning, sleep out on the porch at night\u2014
Nothing like it if you\u2019re anxious to keep feelin\u2019 fit and right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the hovels people shivered, children who were lightly clad
Heard the frosted windows rattle and neglected to be glad;
Through the storm the doctors hurried, wearied from long lack of rest,
Many a weeping mother vainly clasped a dead babe to her breast;
Through the city Death went stalking, striking down the young and old,
And the gaunt cab horses shivered as they stood out in the cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I met her in a parlor, where she lolled in luxury;
\u201cAh,\u201d she said, \u201cthis is the season that brings greatest joy to me;
How I love to hear the creaking of the wheels upon the snow;
What a joy there is in living when it\u2019s ten degrees below!
Springtime brings its fragrant blossoms, but I feel supreme delight
When the wind blows from the northland and the world is clothed in white.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the curb an old man tumbled; at his side a shovel lay,
And his poor, thin coat was fluttered by the wind that howled away;
Pallid children crouched where sadness could not be induced to leave,
In the hovels women shivered and forgot all but to grieve;
Through the city Death went stalking, madly striking right and left
Where the little, gloomy coal bins of all contents were bereft.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From the Rock Island Argus, March 20, 1914. By Henry Howland. I met him on the corner where I saw his breath congeal,And he spoke from furs that covered him almost from head to heel;\u201cAh, but this is lovely weather! Stirs a fellow\u2019s blood, you know;If I could I think I\u2019d always have it ten […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,7],"tags":[161],"class_list":["post-8028","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newspapers","category-rock-island-argus","tag-henry-howland"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8028","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8028"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8028\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8028"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8028"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8028"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}