With snow-capped mountain peaks, frozen fountains, holiday events, and gently falling snow, the Great Smoky Mountains is the perfect place to be in winter!
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
When spring has sprung in the Smokies, it means all things fresh and new. Come check out the sprawling fields of wildflowers, enjoy a picnic in the park, take a hike along the many miles of trails in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, sit by a stream, or enjoy beautiful mountain views from your cabin’s deck while you sip lemonade and read a great book.
Now that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long’d-for May.
Now all things smile, only my love doth lour;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal’d, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
Fall may arguably be the most beautiful and best time to visit the Smokies, though we love anytime in the Smoky Mountains. But in autumn, the leaves begin to change and transform the landscape into a kaleidoscope of rich reds, deep oranges, and vibrant golds. It also means fall festivals and fairs, seasonal foods, live music, and more.
Sing To Me, Autumn
© Patricia L. Cisco
Sing to me, Autumn, with the rustle of your leaves.
Breathe on me your spicy scents that flow within your breeze.
Dance with me, Autumn, your waltz that bends the boughs of trees.
Now tell me all the secrets you’ve whispered to the seas.
Sleep with me, Autumn, beneath your starlit skies.
Let your yellow harvest moon shimmer in our eyes.
Kiss me, Autumn, with your enchanting spellbound ways
That changes all you touch into crimson golden days.
Love me, Autumn, and behold this love so true
That I’ll be waiting faithfully each year to be with you.
Sweet, sweet summertime. It’s time for swimming in your cabin’s pool, playing ball outside, picnicking by mountain streams, sipping sweet iced tea on your cabin’s deck, and enjoying the warm summer breezes in the mountains!
Robert Louis Stevenson
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy’s inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.
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