 | The Chain of Lilies, and other poems |  |
53
Snow-Fall.
It comes again, the eternal snow—
So soft, so still, so white, I know
It came a thousand years ago.
So soft, so still, so white, I know
It came a thousand years ago.
Speak thou, my ruddy-bosom'd bird,
Winter's familiar, hast thou heard
Against the snow a whisper'd word?
Winter's familiar, hast thou heard
Against the snow a whisper'd word?
A listener thou at many a pane,
Whom didst thou ever hear complain
The eternal snow had come again?
Whom didst thou ever hear complain
The eternal snow had come again?
“The Lady Alice, with drooping curl,
Playfully counting ruby and pearl,
Her latest keepsake from the Earl;
Playfully counting ruby and pearl,
Her latest keepsake from the Earl;
And the widow, poising her marriage-ring,
In wonder how much bread it might bring
For her sick little boy, that lay shivering;—
In wonder how much bread it might bring
For her sick little boy, that lay shivering;—
I tapp'd at the windows of both to-day,
And both look'd out in the morning gray,
And neither frown'd on the snow as it lay;
And both look'd out in the morning gray,
And neither frown'd on the snow as it lay;
54
But peaceful fancies seem'd to glide
Into the brain of widow and bride,
As they watch'd the whiteness falling wide.”
Into the brain of widow and bride,
As they watch'd the whiteness falling wide.”
Bird, it is sooth! We chide the rain
And wind, when they batter the flinching pane,
And we pity the traveller by land or main;
And wind, when they batter the flinching pane,
And we pity the traveller by land or main;
And we shiver almost for the sake of the dead—
But not when the coldest sky has shed
Its fair white drapery for their bed.
But not when the coldest sky has shed
Its fair white drapery for their bed.
Thou hast silently blanch'd the grave, cold snow,
Where we laid our pretty one, not long ago,
And we do not shudder to think it is so;
Where we laid our pretty one, not long ago,
And we do not shudder to think it is so;
Her brother is clapping his hands for glee,
And wishes the dead were here to see,
Eternal snow, and to welcome thee!
And wishes the dead were here to see,
Eternal snow, and to welcome thee!
Rough words for the rain, and the wind from the hill,
Though it soften the furrow, turn the mill,
But hail to the snow with a hearty good will!
Though it soften the furrow, turn the mill,
But hail to the snow with a hearty good will!
| The Chain of Lilies, and other poems | |