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© 2015 by MimpMag All Rights Reserved  

  • Drawings by Shelby August

A World of One Colour


A collection of Christmas sketches inspired by famous words for your enjoyment.

In GET ARTSY

“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.

“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost

How like a winter hath my absence been

From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

What old December’s bareness every where!

And yet this time removed was summer’s time,

The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,

Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,

Like widow’d wombs after their lords’ decease:

Yet this abundant issue seem’d to me

But hope of orphans and unfather’d fruit;

For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,

And, thou away, the very birds are mute;

Or, if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer

That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.

Sonnet 97” by William Shakespeare

O winter! bar thine adamantine doors:

The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark

Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs

Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

He hears me not, but o’er the yawning deep

Rides heavy; his storms are unchain’d, sheathed

In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes;

For he hath rear’d his sceptre o’er the world

Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings

To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks:

He withers all in silence, and in his hand

Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner

Cries in vain. Poor little wretch! that deal’st

With storms, till heaven smiles, and the monster

Is driven yelling to his caves beneath Mount Hecla.

“To Winter” by William Blake


Now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid!

On, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch!

To the top of the wall!

Now dash away!

Dash away!

Dash away all!”

excerpt from

“A Visit from St. Nicholas”

by Clement Clarke Moore

“Winter solitude--

in a world of one color

the sound of wind.”

“Winter Solitude” by Matsuo Basho

#December2015 #Art