from Dante Alighieri's "Inferno"

I thought this was an absolutely beautiful translation, although its content may be more relevant as spring approaches. Either way, enjoy:

"In the turning season of the youthful year,

when the sun is warming his rays beneath Aquarius

and the days and nights already begin to near

their perfect balance; the hoar-frost copies then

the image of his white sister on the ground,

but the first sun wipes away the work of his pen."