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Snow Poems

Table of Contents

  1. The First Snow-Fall by James Russell Lowell
  2. A Clinging Snow by Anonymous
  3. The Snow-Flake by Hannah Flagg Gould
  4. It Snows by Hannah Flagg Gould
  5. A Snow-Flake by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
  6. The Snow Man by Marian Douglas
  7. Snow Falling by John James Piatt
  8. The Snowstorm by James Thomson
  9. The Snow Shower by William Cullen Bryant
  10. It Snows by Sarah Josepha Hale
  11. The Snow by Emily Dickinson
  12. Before the Snow by Bliss Carman
  13. Old Sis Snow by Madison Cawein
  14. Snow by Adelaide Crapsey
  15. Snow by Elizabeth Akers Allen
  16. Snow Storm by John Clare
  17. To a Snow-Flake by Francis Thompson
  18. Snow-Flakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  19. The First Snow-Fall by John B. Tabb
  20. Dust of Snow by Robert Frost
  21. Lucy Gray by William Wordsworth
  22. Snow Ralph E. McMillin
  23. The Snow-Flakes Richard Coe
  24. Out in the Snow Louise Chandler Moulton
  25. London Snow Robert Seymour Bridges
  26. A Patch of Old Snow by Robert Frost
  27. The Snowstorm by James W. Whilt
  28. Snow-Flakes by Kate Slaughter McKinney
  29. Shovelling Snow by Harry Edward Mills

  1. The First Snowfall

    by James Russell Lowell

    The snow had begun in the gloaming,
    And busily all the night
    Had been heaping field and highway
    With a silence deep and white.

    Every pine and fir and hemlock
    Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
    And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
    Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

    From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
    Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
    The stiff rails softened to swan's-down,
    And still fluttered down the snow.

    I stood and watched by the window
    The noiseless work of the sky,
    And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
    Like brown leaves whirling by.

    I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
    Where a little headstone stood;
    How the flakes were folding it gently,
    As did robins the babes in the wood.

    Up spoke our own little Mabel,
    Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
    And I told of the good All-father
    Who cares for us here below.

    Again I looked at the snow-fall,
    And thought of the leaden sky
    That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
    When that mound was heaped so high.

    I remembered the gradual patience
    That fell from that cloud like snow,
    Flake by flake, healing and hiding
    The scar that renewed our woe.

    And again to the child I whispered,
    "The snow that husheth all,
    Darling, the merciful Father
    Alone can make it fall"

    Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
    And she, kissing back, could not know
    That my kiss was given to her sister,
    Folded close under deepening snow.

  2. A Clinging Snow

    by Anonymous

    The world of trees is twinned with a world of snow,
    Like black Othello and his stainless mate;
    In parallels as strange as hope and fate
    The sweet white follows where the branches go.
    Its feathered heavy arches bending low,
    The forest holds itself in crystal state;

    All softly scintillant the hushed aisles wait
    As for the march of angels to and fro.
    The lowliest hush o'ertops the highest art,
    And loveliness is flung on log and stone
    And wreathed in all recesses of the wood.
    Ah, here's a vision of the pure in heart,
    So into truth and living beauty grown
    That all their least concerns are fair and good.

  3. The Snow-Flake

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    "Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
    To be cast in some lone, and lowly spot,
    To melt, and to sink, unseen, or forgot?
    And there will my course be ended?"
    'T was this a feathery Snow-Flake said,
    As down through measureless space it strayed,
    Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid,
    It seemed in mid air suspended.

    "Oh! no," said the Earth, "thou shalt not lie
    Neglected and lone on my lap to die,
    Thou pure and delicate child of the sky!
    For, thou wilt be safe in my keeping.
    But then, I must give thee a lovelier form—
    Thou wilt not be part of the wintry storm,
    But revive,when the sunbeams are yellow and warm,
    And the flowers from my bosom are peeping!

    "And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be
    Restored in the lily that decks the lea,
    In the jessamine-bloom, the anemone;
    Or aught of thy spotless whiteness:—
    To melt, and be cast in a glittering bead,
    With the pearls, that the night scatters over the mead,
    In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed,
    Regaining thy dazzling brightness.

    "I'll let thee awake from thy transient sleep,
    When Viola's mild blue eye shall weep,
    In a tremulous tear; or, a diamond, leap
    In a drop from the unlocked fountain:
    Or, leaving the valley, the meadow and heath,
    The streamlet, the flowers and all beneath,
    Go up and be wove in the silvery wreath
    Encircling the brow of the mountain.

    "Or wouldst thou return to a home in the skies!
    To shine in the Iris I'll let thee arise,
    And appear in the many and glorious dyes
    A pencil of sunbeams is blending!
    But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth,
    I'll give thee a new and vernal birth,
    When thou shalt recover thy primal worth,
    And never regret descending!"

    "Then I will drop," said the trusting Flake;
    "But, bear it in mind, that the choice I make
    Is not in the flowers, nor the dew to wake;
    Nor the mist, that shall pass with the morning.
    For, things of thyself, they will die with thee;
    But those that are lent from on high, like me,
    They rise and will live, from thy dust set free,
    To the regions above returning.

    "And, if true to thy word, and just thou art,
    Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart,
    Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart
    And return to my native heaven.
    For, I would be placed in the beautiful Bow,
    From time to time, in thy sight to glow,
    So thou may'st remember the Flake of Snow,
    By the promise that God hath given!"

  4. It Snows

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    It snows! it snows! from out the sky
    The feathered flakes, how fast they fly,
    Like little birds, that don't know why
    They're on the chase, from place to place,
    While neither can the other trace.
    It snows! it snows! a merry play
    Is o'er us, on this heavy day!

    As dancers in an airy hall,
    That hasn't room to hold them all,
    While some keep up, and others fall,
    The atoms shift, then, thick and swift,
    They drive along to form the drift,
    That weaving up, so dazzling white,
    Is rising like a wall of light.

    But, now the wind comes whistling loud,
    To snatch and waft it, as a cloud,
    Or giant phantom in a shroud;
    It spreads! it curls! it mounts and whirls,
    At length, a mighty wing unfurls;
    And then, away! but, where, none knows,
    Or ever will.—It snows! it snows!

    To-morrow will the storm be done;
    Then, out will come the golden sun:
    And we shall see, upon the run
    Before his beams, in sparkling streams,
    What now a curtain o'er him seems.
    And thus, with life, it ever goes;
    'T is shade and shine!—It snows! it snows!

  5. A Snow-Flake

    by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

    Once he sang of summer,
    Nothing but the summer;
    Now he sings of winter,
    Of winter bleak and drear:
    Just because there's fallen
    A snow-flake on his forehead.
    He must go and fancy
    'T is winter all the year!

  6. The Snow Man

    by Marian Douglas

    Look! how the clouds are flying south!
    The winds pipe loud and shrill!
    And high above the white drifts stands
    The snow man on the hill.

    Blow, wild wind from the icy north!
    Here's one who will not fear
    To feel thy coldest touch, or shrink
    Thy loudest blast to hear.

    Proud triumph of the schoolboy's skill!
    Far rather would I be
    A winter giant, ruling o'er
    A frosty realm, like thee,

    And stand amid the drifted snow,
    Like thee, a thing apart,
    Than be a man who walks with men,
    But has a frozen heart!

  7. Snow Falling

    John James Piatt

    The wonderful snow is falling
    Over river and woodland and wold;
    The trees bear spectral blossom
    In the moonshine blurr'd and cold.

    There's a beautiful garden in Heaven;
    And these are the banished flowers,
    Falling and driven and drifted
    Into this dark world of ours.

  8. The Snowstorm

    James Thomson

    Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends,
    At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes
    Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day,
    With a continual flow. The cherished fields
    Put on their winter robe of purest white.
    'T is brightness all: save where the new snow melts
    Along the mazy current.

    Low the woods
    Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun
    Faint from the west emits its evening ray,
    Earth's universal face, deep-hid and chill,
    Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide
    The works of man.

    Drooping, the laborer ox
    Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands
    The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven,
    Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around
    The winnowing store, and claim the little boon
    Which Providence assigns them.

    One alone,
    The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
    Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
    In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves
    His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man
    His annual visit.

    Half-afraid, he first
    Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights
    On the warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor,
    Eyes all the smiling family askance,
    And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is;
    Till, more familiar grown, the table crumbs
    Attract his slender feet.

    The foodless wilds
    Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare,
    Though timorous of heart, and hard beset
    By death in various forms, dark snares and dogs,
    And more unpitying men, the garden seeks,
    Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kind.
    Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth,
    With looks of dumb despair; then, sad dispersed,
    Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow

    Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind,
    Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens
    With food at will; lodge them below the storm,
    And watch them strict; for from the bellowing east,
    In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing
    Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains
    In one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks,
    Hid in the hollow of two neighboring hills,
    The billowy tempest 'whelms; till, upward urged,
    The valley to a shining mountain swells,
    Tipped with a wreath high-curling in the sky

  9. The Snow Shower

    William Cullen Bryant

    Stand here by my side and turn, I pray,
    On the lake below thy gentle eyes;
    The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray,
    And dark and silent the water lies;
    And out of that frozen mist the snow
    In wavering flakes begins to flow;
    Flake after flake
    They sink in the dark and silent lake.

    See how in a living swarm they come
    From the chambers beyond that misty veil;
    Some hover in air awhile, and some
    Rush prone from the sky like summer hail.
    All, dropping swiftly, or settling slow,
    Meet, and are still in the depths below;
    Flake after flake
    Dissolved in the dark and silent lake.

    Here delicate snow stars, out of the cloud,
    Come floating downward in airy play,
    Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd
    That whiten by night the Milky Way;
    There broader and burlier masses fall;
    The sullen water buries them all,—
    Flake after flake,—
    All drowned in the dark and silent lake.

    And some, as on tender wings they glide
    From their chilly birth cloud, dim and gray.
    Are joined in their fall, and, side by side,
    Come clinging along their unsteady way;
    As friend with friend, or husband with wife,
    Makes hand in hand the passage of life;
    Each mated flake
    Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake.

    Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste
    Stream down the snows, till the air is white,
    As, myriads by myriads madly chased,
    They fling themselves from their shadowy height.
    The fair, frail creatures of middle sky,
    What speed they make, with their grave so nigh;
    Flake after flake
    To lie in the dark and silent lake..

    I see in thy gentle eyes a tear;
    They turn to me in sorrowful thought;
    Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear,
    Who were for a time, and now are not;
    Like these fair children of cloud and frost,
    That glisten a moment an then are lost,
    Flake after flake,—
    All lost in the dark and silent lake.

    Yet look again, for the clouds divide;
    A gleam of blue on the water lies;
    And far away, on the mountain side,
    A sunbeam falls from the opening skies.
    But the hurrying host that flew between
    The cloud and the water no more is seen;
    Flake after flake
    At rest in the dark and silent lake.

  10. It Snows

    Sarah Josepha Hale

    "It snows!" cries the Schoolboy, "Hurrah!" and his shout
    Is ringing through parlor and hall,
    While swift as the wing of a swallow, he's out,
    And his playmates have answered his call;
    It makes the heart leap but to witness their joy;
    Proud wealth has no pleasures, I trow,
    Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy
    As he gathers his treasures of snow;
    Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs,
    While health and the riches of nature are theirs.

    "It snows!" sighs the Imbecile, "Ah!" and his breath
    Comes heavy, as clogged with a weight;
    While, from the pale aspect of nature in death,
    He turns to the blaze of his grate;
    And nearer and nearer, his soft-cushioned chair
    Is wheeled toward the life-giving flame;
    He dreads a chill puff of the snow-burdened air,
    Lest it wither his delicate frame;
    Oh! small is the pleasure existence can give,
    When the fear we shall die only proves that we live!

    "It snows!" cries the Traveler, "Ho!" and the word
    Has quickened his steed's lagging pace;
    The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard,
    Unfelt the sharp drift in his face;
    For bright through the tempest his own home appeared,
    Ay, though leagues intervened, he can see:
    There's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table prepared,
    And his wife with her babes at her knee;
    Blest thought! how it lightens the grief-laden hour,
    That those we love dearest are safe from its power!

    "It snows!" cries the Belle, "Dear, how lucky!" and turns
    From her mirror to watch the flakes fall,
    Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek burns!
    While musing on sleigh ride and ball:
    There are visions of conquests, of splendor, and mirth,
    Floating over each drear winter's day;
    But the tintings of Hope, on this storm-beaten earth,
    Will melt like the snowflakes away.
    Turn, then thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss;
    That world has a pure fount ne'er opened in this.

    "It snows!" cries the Widow, "O God!" and her sighs
    Have stifled the voice of her prayer;
    Its burden ye'll read in her tear-swollen eyes,
    On her cheek sunk with fasting and care.
    'T is night, and her fatherless ask her for bread,
    But "He gives the young ravens their food,"
    And she trusts till her dark hearth adds horror to dread,
    And she lays on her last chip of wood.
    Poor sufferer! that sorrow thy God only knows;
    'T is a most bitter lot to be poor when it snows.

  11. The Snow

    by Emily Dickinson

    It sifts from leaden sieves,
    It powders all the wood,
    It fills with alabaster wool
    The wrinkles of the road.

    It makes an even face
    Of mountain and of plain, —
    Unbroken forehead from the east
    Unto the east again.

    It reaches to the fence,
    It wraps it, rail by rail,
    Till it is lost in fleeces;
    It flings a crystal veil

    On stump and stack and stem, —
    The summer's empty room,
    Acres of seams where harvests were,
    Recordless, but for them.

    It ruffles wrists of posts,
    As ankles of a queen, —
    Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
    Denying they have been.

  12. Before the Snow

    by Bliss Carman

    Now soon, ah, very soon, I know
    The trumpets of the north will blow,
    And the great winds will come to bring
    The pale, wild riders of the snow.

    Darkening the sun with level flight,
    At arrowy speed, they will alight,
    Unnumbered as the desert sands,
    To bivouac on the edge of night.

    Then I, within their somber ring,
    Shall hear a voice that seems to sing,
    Deep, deep within my tranquil heart,
    The valiant prophecy of spring.

  13. Old Sis Snow

    by Madison Cawein

    Old Sis Snow, with hair ablow,
    Down the road now see her go!
    Her old gown pulled back and pinned
    Round her legs by Wild-boy Wind —
    Ough n't he to just be skinned? —
    Hear her shriek, now high, now low,
    Tangled in her hair! my oh! —
    Is n't she a crazy show?
    Old Sis Snow!

    Old Sis Snow now to and fro
    Ramps and wrestles and hollos "Whoa!"
    Sticks her long white fingers through
    Every crack and cranny too,
    Reaching after me and you:
    Cold! and look how fast they grow!
    Ghostly in the lamplight's glow,
    Threatening you from head to toe! —
    Old Sis Snow!

    Old Sis Snow! now you go slow!
    You'll get tired enough, I know:
    Wild-boy Wind will drag you down;
    Round your ears will tear your gown;
    Strew its rags through field and town. —
    Now he's at it, blow on blow,
    Hitting hard as any hoe. —
    Hear them how they knock and throw!
    Wild-boy Wind and Old Sis Snow!

  14. Snow

    by Adelaide Crapsey

    Look up…
    From bleakening hills
    Blows down the light, first breath
    Of wintry wind…look up, and scent
    The snow!

  15. Snow

    by Elizabeth Akers Allen

    Lo, what wonders the day hath brought,
    Born of the soft and slumbrous snow!
    Gradual, silent, slowly wrought;
    Even as an artist, thought by thought,
    Writes expression on lip and brow.

    Hanging garlands the eaves o'erbrim,
    Deep drifts smother the paths below;
    The elms are shrouded, trunk and limb,
    And all the air is dizzy and dim
    With a whirl of dancing, dazzling snow.

    Dimly out of the baffled sight
    Houses and church-spires stretch away;
    The trees, all spectral and still and white,
    Stand up like ghosts in the failing light,
    And fade and faint with the blinded day.

    Down from the roofs in gusts are hurled
    The eddying drifts to the waste below;
    And still is the banner of storm unfurled,
    Till all the drowned and desolate world
    Lies dumb and white in a trance of snow.

    Slowly the shadows gather and fall,
    Still the whispering snow-flakes beat;
    Night and darkness are over all:
    Rest, pale city, beneath their pall!
    Sleep, white world, in thy winding-sheet!

    Clouds may thicken, and storm-winds breathe:
    On my wall is a glimpse of Rome, —
    Land of my longing! - and underneath
    Swings and trembles my olive-wreath;
    Peace and I are at home, at home!

  16. Snow Storm

    by John Clare

    What a night! The wind howls, hisses, and but stops
    To howl more loud, while the snow volley keeps
    Incessant batter at the window pane,
    Making our comfort feel as sweet again;
    And in the morning, when the tempest drops,
    At every cottage door mountainous heaps
    Of snow lie drifted, that all entrance stops
    Untill the beesom and the shovel gain
    The path, and leave a wall on either side.
    The shepherd rambling valleys white and wide
    With new sensations his old memory fills,
    When hedges left at night, no more descried,
    Are turned to one white sweep of curving hills,
    And trees turned bushes half their bodies hide.

    The boy that goes to fodder with surprise
    Walks oer the gate he opened yesternight.
    The hedges all have vanished from his eyes;
    Een some tree tops the sheep could reach to bite.
    The novel scene emboldens new delight,
    And, though with cautious steps his sports begin,
    He bolder shuffles the huge hills of snow,
    Till down he drops and plunges to the chin,
    And struggles much and oft escape to win—
    Then turns and laughs but dare not further go;
    For deep the grass and bushes lie below,
    Where little birds that soon at eve went in
    With heads tucked in their wings now pine for day
    And little feel boys oer their heads can stray.

  17. To a Snow-Flake

    by Francis Thompson

    What heart could have thought you? —
    Past our devisal
    (O filigree petal!)
    Fashioned so purely,
    Fragilely, surely,
    From what Paradisal
    Imagineless metal,
    Too costly for cost?

    Who hammered you, wrought you,
    From argentine vapor? —
    "God was my shaper.
    Passing surmisal,
    He hammered, He wrought me,
    From curled silver vapor,
    To lust of His mind —
    Thou could'st not have thought me!
    So purely, so palely,
    Tinily, surely,
    Mightily, frailly,
    Insculped and embossed,
    With His hammer of wind,
    And His graver of frost."

  18. Snow-flakes

    by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Out of the bosom of the Air,
    Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
    Over the woodlands brown and bare,
    Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
    Silent, and soft, and slow
    Descends the snow.

    Even as our cloudy fancies take
    Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
    Even as the troubled heart doth make
    In the white countenance confession,
    The troubled sky reveals
    The grief it feels.

    This is the poem of the air,
    Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
    This is the secret of despair,
    Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
    Now whispered and revealed
    To wood and field.

  19. The First Snow-Fall

    by John B. Tabb

    The Fir-tree felt it with a thrill
    And murmur of content;
    The last dead Leaf its cable slipt
    And from its moorings went;

    The selfsame silent messenger
    To one the shibboleth
    Of Life imparting, and to one
    The countersign of Death.

  20. Dust of Snow

    by Robert Frost

    The way a crow
    Shook down on me
    The dust of snow
    From a hemlock tree

    Has given my heart
    A change of mood
    And saved some part
    Of a day I had rued.

  21. Lucy Gray

    by William Wordsworth

    Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
    And, when I crossed the wild,
    I chanced to see, at break of day,
    The solitary child.

    No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
    She dwelt on a wide moor,
    The sweetest thing that ever grew
    Beside a human door!

    You yet may spy the fawn at play,
    The hare upon the green;
    But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
    Will never more be seen.

    "To-night will be a stormy night,—
    You to the town must go;
    And take a lantern, Child, to light
    Your mother through the snow."

    "That, Father, will I gladly do:
    'Tis scarcely afternoon,—
    The minster-clock has just struck two,
    And yonder is the moon!"

    At this the Father raised his hook,
    And snapped a fagot-brand.
    He plied his work;—and Lucy took
    The lantern in her hand.

    Not blither is the mountain roe:
    With many a wanton stroke
    Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
    That rises up like smoke.

    The storm came on before its time:
    She wandered up and down:
    And many a hill did Lucy climb:
    But never reached the town.

    The wretched parents all that night
    Went shouting far and wide;
    But there was neither sound nor sight
    To serve them for a guide.

    At daybreak on the hill they stood
    That overlooked the moor;
    And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
    A furlong from their door.

    They wept,—and, turning homeward, cried,
    "In heaven we all shall meet;"
    When in the snow the mother spied
    The print of Lucy's feet.

    Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
    They tracked the footmarks small:
    And through the broken hawthorn-hedge,
    And by the low stone-wall;

    And then an open field they crossed—
    The marks were still the same—
    They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
    And to the bridge they came.

    They followed from the snowy bank
    Those footmarks, one by one,
    Into the middle of the plank;
    And further there were none!

    —Yet some maintain that to this day
    She is a living child;
    That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
    Upon the lonesome wild.

    O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
    And never looks behind;
    And sings a solitary song
    That whistles in the wind.

  22. Snow

    by Ralph Edward McMillin

    I know a bleak unlovely plain,
    A dismal stretch of weed and sand,
    Where Desolation's horrors reign,
    Severe and grim on every hand.

    The shrill winds whistled through the night;
    The great drifts eddied here and there
    And buried deep and out of sight
    My well-trimmed walks and gardens fair.

    And now I look across the snows—
    A sea of sparkling diadems,
    A garden white, wherein there glows
    A myriad of precious gems.

    The dreary plain must stretch away
    Beyond the borders of my plot,
    And yet it shimmers back to-day
    As dazzling white as Camelot.

    There, where the drifts in billows swell,
    And border line with border blends,
    I know and yet I cannot tell
    Where waste begins and garden ends.

    And so I wot, were we to see
    Some bleak unlovely lives we know
    Through eyes of perfect charity
    Our careful border lines would go—
    The Thee and Me and Me and Thee
    Quite buried as in dazzling snow.

  23. The Snow-Flakes

    by Richard Coe

    The snow-flakes, the snow-flakes,
    The children of the sky—
    How silently they come to earth
    From their sweet home on high.

    The snow-flakes, the snow flakes,
    An angel band are they,
    Array'd in robes of spotless white,
    To cheer the winter day.

    The snow-flakes, the snow-flakes
    Their coming is a joy,
    A promise sweet of blessedness
    To many a happy boy.

    The snow-flakes, the snow-flakes,
    They cover all the earth,
    And fill the maiden's heart with thoughts
    Of happiness and mirth.

    The snow-flakes, the snow-flakes,
    The sturdy farmer's eye
    Is lit up with a brighter joy
    To see them in the sky!

    The snow-flakes, the snow-flakes,
    An angel band are they,
    Array'd in robes of spotless white,
    To cheer the winter day.

  24. Out in the Snow

    by Louise Chandler Moulton

    The snow and the silence came down together,
    Through the night so white and so still;
    And young folks housed from the bitter weather,
    Housed from the storm and the chill—

    Heard in their dreams the sleigh-bells jingle,
    Coasted the hill-sides under the moon,
    Felt their cheeks with the keen air tingle,
    Skimmed the ice with their steel-clad shoon.

    They saw the snow when they rose in the morning,
    Glittering ghosts of the vanished night,
    Though the sun shone clear in the winter dawning,
    And the day with a frosty pomp was bright.

    Out in the clear, cold, winter weather—
    Out in the winter air, like wine—
    Kate with her dancing scarlet feather,
    Bess with her peacock plumage fine,

    Joe and Jack with their pealing laughter,
    Frank and Tom with their gay hallo,
    And half a score of roisterers after,
    Out in the witching, wonderful snow,

    Shivering graybeards shuffle and stumble,
    Righting themselves with a frozen frown,
    Grumbling at every snowy tumble;
    But young folks know why the snow came down.

  25. London Snow

    by Robert Seymour Bridges

    When men were all asleep the snow came flying,
    In large white flakes falling on the city brown,
    Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying,
    Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town;
    Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing;
    Lazily and incessantly floating down and down:

    Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing;
    Hiding difference, making unevenness even,
    Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing.
    All night it fell, and when full inches seven
    It lay in the depth of its uncompacted lightness,
    The clouds blew off from a high and frosty heaven;
    And all woke earlier for the unaccustomed brightness
    Of the winter dawning, the strange unheavenly glare:
    The eye marvelled-marvelled at the dazzling whiteness;
    The ear hearkened to the stillness of the solemn air;
    No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling,
    And the busy morning cries came thin and spare.
    Then boys I heard, as they went to school, calling,
    They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze
    Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing;
    Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees;
    Or peering up from under the white-mossed wonder,
    'O look at the trees!' they cried, 'O look at the trees!'
    With lessened load a few carts creak and blunder,
    Following along the white deserted way,
    A country company long dispersed asunder:
    When now already the sun, in pale display
    Standing by Paul's high dome, spread forth below
    His sparkling beams, and awoke the stir of the day.
    For now doors open, and war is waged with the snow;
    And trains of sombre men, past tale of number,
    Tread long brown paths, as toward their toil they go:
    But even for them awhile no cares encumber
    Their minds diverted; the daily word is unspoken,
    The daily thoughts of labour and sorrow slumber
    At the sight of the beauty that greets them, for the charm they have broken.

  26. A Patch of Old Snow

    by Robert Frost

    There’s a patch of old snow in a corner
    That I should have guessed
    Was a blow-away paper the rain
    Had brought to rest.

    It is speckled with grime as if
    Small print overspread it,
    The news of a day I’ve forgotten—
    If I ever read it.

  27. The Snowstorm

    by James W. Whilt

    The snow has started falling,
    'Tis falling o'er mountain and plain,
    The trees bend under their burden,
    Shake free, and are draped again.

    While I sit here safe in my cabin
    Where all is cozy and warm,
    I can peer into the future,
    And view the woods after the storm.

    I can see the deer seeking the low-lands,
    In search of their daily food,
    I can see the hunter's eyes glisten,
    For he knows that the tracking is good.

    The lion dogs leap in their kennels,
    There is barking and wagging of tails,
    The hunter examines his snow-shoes,
    And dreams of "kills" and of trails.

    The bear trails lead far up the mountain
    Where the cliffs are rugged and steep,
    And there is some cave in the ledges,
    They're beginning their winter's sleep.

    They will sleep till the wild geese awaken them,
    As they take their Northern flight,
    Then again they will seek the hill-sides
    Where the sun shines clear and bright.

    Now the wild geese honk as they leave us,
    Followed close by wind-driven snow;
    They are telling all of us trappers,
    But, of course, all us trappers know

    That whenever the wild geese go homing,
    It is time that our traps are set;—
    Snow, I have been waiting for you!
    You are a welcome visitor—you bet.

  28. Snow-Flakes

    by Kate Slaughter McKinney

    See the early snow-flakes!
    Softly they descend,
    Like an orchard blossom
    Scattered by the wind.

    Here and there they’re flying
    Over all the trees,
    High above them swarming
    Like white-winged bees.

    Faster still they’re whirling,
    Dancing into sight,
    Like a troop of fairies
    When the moon is light.

    Tripping down the highway
    In a reckless gait,
    Falling like a feather
    Without sound or weight.

    On the distant churchyard
    Over graves unkept,
    Where the leaves have drifted
    And the clouds have wept.

    Little band of angels
    Doing only good,
    Making white the meadow
    And the lonely wood.

    Greeting with light kisses
    All they chance to meet,
    Leaving shining footprints
    All about the street.

    Little winter children
    Full of life and fun—
    Oh! I love the snow-flakes,
    Love them every one.

  29. Shovelling Snow

    by Harry Edward Mills

    Sparkling eyes, cheeks aglow,
    See him shovelling through the snow.
    Few will tread his opened way,
    None his labors will repay;

    Hear him humming soft and low,
    As he shovels in the snow.

    At a humble window see
    Picture fair as fair can be;
    Maidenhood in rustic bloom
    Standing by an idle broom.

    How the blushes come and go
    As she sees the flying snow.

    Simple hearts so young and warm,
    Love has taken you by storm.
    May the winters as they roll,
    Closer bind you soul to soul;

    May your heaven here below
    Be as spotless as the snow.