Snow

No breath of wind,

No gleam of sun –

Still the white snow

Whirls softly down

Twig and bough

And blade and thorn

All in an icy

Quiet, forlorn.

Whispering, rustling,

Through the air

On still and stone,

Roof, - everywhere,

It heaps its powdery

Crystal flakes,

Of every tree

A mountain makes;

‘Til pale and faint

At shut of day

Stoops from the West

One wint’ry ray,

And, feathered in fire

Where ghosts the moon,

A robin shrills

His lonely tune.