When Icicles Hang By The Wall

On a roadside, near Nowhere Towers

When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipt and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit; tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow
And coughing drowns the parson's saw
And birds sit brooding in the snow
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit; tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

From Love's Labour's Lost, and not A Winter's Tale, as you might imagine. Brrr.

Update: after a slightly alcohol-fuelled discussion with Joe Public, I can confirm that the photo is indeed the right way up. The water seeps from the rock face, forms a curtain of icicles as it freezes, and then blends into the snow on the ground, thus forming both stalactites and stalagmites simultaneously. From a certain viewpoint, probably over 80mg per 100ml, they do appear to be growing upwards. Ish.