hoary frost

Roberto was like a breath of fresh air after a very public divorce. His family welcomed us with open arms. The contrast was like a sunny day in Italy compared to a hoary frost in February, possibly in Moscow.
—  Cynthia Lennon, answering the question “What was your life like with your second husband, Roberto Bassanini, and how was he different from John?”, The Independent, July 1999

No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound:
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which:
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.

a midsummer night’s dream | the globe