The Winter of Our Discontent?

There is an interesting short article on the Shakespeare line which I will show below. The article points out how this line is often misused by writers. So, not wanting to abuse the original text, I will treat it gingerly, and simply make the point that during this winter in North America, and unlike the victorious Richard III, the discontent such as it may be is increasing not decreasing for many people.

Whatever your mood or circumstance dear reader, I offer you the following lines of the poet Robert Bridges. By way of warning, the poem is not up-lifting in the ordinary sense, but I think you will hear the moaning grayness of the lines and appreciate the vividness of the text.

Here, then, the poem.


WINTER NIGHTFALL


The day begins to droop, ---
Its course is done;
But nothing tells the place
Of setting sun.

The hazy darkness deepens,
And up the lane
You may hear, but cannot see,
The homing wain*.

An engine pants and hums
In the farm hard by;
Its lowering smoke is lost
In the lowering sky.

The soaking branches drip,
And all night through
The dropping will not cease
In the avenue.

A tall man there in the house
Must keep his chair;
He knows he will never again
Breathe the spring air:

His heart is worn with work;
He is giddy and sick
If he rise to go as far
As the nearest rick+:

He thinks of his morn of life,
His hale, strong years;
And braves as he may the night
Of darkness and tears.

-- Robert Bridges

* a usually large and heavy vehicle for farm use
+ possibly a stack of cordwood split from logs (or some other material)



http://www.enotes.com/shakespeare-quotes/now-winter-our-discontent