Snow-Flakes

<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN> <h1><SPAN name="chap159"></SPAN>SNOW-FLAKES</h1> <p> Out of the bosom of the Air,<br/> Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,<br/> Over the woodlands brown and bare,<br/> Over the harvest-fields forsaken,<br/> Silent, and soft, and slow<br/> Descends the snow.<br/></p> <p> Even as our cloudy fancies take<br/> Suddenly shape in some divine expression,<br/> Even as the troubled heart doth make<br/> In the white countenance confession,<br/> The troubled sky reveals<br/> The grief it feels.<br/></p> <p> This is the poem of the air,<br/> Slowly in silent syllables recorded;<br/> This is the secret of despair,<br/> Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,<br/> Now whispered and revealed<br/> To wood and field.<br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />