“The clangor of the swords had died away, the shouting of the slaughter was hushed; silence lay on the red-stained snow. The bleak pale sun that glittered so blindingly from the ice-fields and the snow-covered plains struck sheens of silver from rent corselet and broken blade, where the dead lay as they had fallen. The nerveless hand yet gripped the broken hilt; helmeted heads back-drawn in the death-throes, tilted red beards and golden beards grimly upward, as if in last invocation to Ymir the frost-giant, god of a warrior-race…”

— Robert E. Howard

"The Frost-Giant's Daughter" (1953)

Adopted from Wikiquote. Last update June 3, 2021. History

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Robert E. Howard 145

American author 1906–1936

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“As when a rose, ere-while of bloom so gay,
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The snowy white, and all its fragrance fled;
So from her cheeks the roses died away,
And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay.”

Luís de Camões (1524–1580) Portuguese poet

Assim como a bonina, que cortada
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“Like gay-hued leaves after an autumn storm, the fallen littered the plain; the sinking sun shimmered on burnished helmets, gilt-worked mail, silver breastplates, broken swords and the heavy regal folds of silken standards, overthrown in pools of curdling crimson. In silent heaps lay war-horses and their steel-clad riders, flowing manes and blowing plumes stained alike in the red tide. About them and among them, like the drift of a storm, were strewn slashed and trampled bodies in steel caps and leather jerkins…”

Robert E. Howard (1906–1936) American author

"The Scarlet Citadel" (1933)

“In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
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Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.”

Christina Rossetti (1830–1894) English poet

Mid-Winter http://poetry.about.com/library/weekly/blrossettichristmas.htm, st. 1 (1872).
Source: The Poetical Works of Christina Georgina Rossetti

“Jump into an open grave? What kind of idiot are you?" Butters replied. "I might as well put on a red shirt and volunteer for the away team. There's snow and ice and slippery mud down there. That's like asking for an ironically broken neck.”

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Source: Ghost Story

“The day is past, and the moonbeams weep
O'er the many that rest in their last cold sleep;
Near to the gashed and the nerveless hand
Is the pointless spear and the broken brand;
The archer lies like an arrow spent,
His shafts all loose and his bow unbent;
Many a white plume torn and red,
Bright curls rent from the graceful head,
Helmet and breast-plate scattered around,
Lie a fearful show on the well-fought ground;
While the crow and the raven flock overhead
To feed on the hearts of the helpless dead,
Save when scared by the glaring eye
Of some wretch in his last death agony.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

The Warrior from The London Literary Gazette (25th October 1823) Sketch
The Improvisatrice (1824)

“The snow lay deep upon road and fields, for the April sun was powerless to send warmth through the gray clouds, and the heavy spring rains were yet to come.”

Louis Hémon book Maria Chapdelaine

Source: Maria Chapdelaine (1913), Ch. 1, p. 4

“My fingers are turning red, my nose is turning red, and that kind of cold, I was, of course, also unfamiliar with. And snow has always had an awe for me. The silence that takes over the world, and just. . . the absolute miracle of snow. I’ve never gotten over it, I have to confess.”

Shobha Rao

On her first exposure to winter in the United States in "Shobha Rao on Moving Between Cultures and Loving Little House on the Prairie" https://lithub.com/shobha-rao-on-moving-between-cultures-and-loving-little-house-on-the-prairie/ in LitHub (2018 Nov 19)

“Cold and silence. Nothing quieter than snow. The sky screams to deliver it, a hundred banshees flying on the edge of
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Source: Speak

“Reeling up, blood streaming down his face from under his dented helmet, Conan glared dizzily at the profusion of destruction which spread before him. From crest to crest the dead lay strewn, a red carpet that choked the valley. It was like a red sea, with each wave a straggling line of corpses.”

Robert E. Howard (1906–1936) American author

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“Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.”

Wilfred Owen (1893–1918) English poet and soldier (1893-1918)

Source: The Poems Of Wilfred Owen

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