Not only is it cold in the northern hemisphere, but the snow is general all over Ireland. It is falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It is falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lies buried. It lies thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. My soul swoons slowly as I hear the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead....
Ok. Top that for just talking about the weather! |
