SNOW

My heart delights in poet's minstrelsie,

In pictures ranged down some long gallerie,

In mandolins and all sweet melodie.

And yet, when I go walking through the woods

On frosty days, and watch the falling snow,

I would renounce all Culture's radiant moods

To live in ice-lands with the Eskimo.

How purely gleams the mantle of the snow!

How softly sing the myriad silver tongues

Of whirling flakes that wrought Earth's overthrow!

With the keen air I fill my tired lungs,

And shout for joy and dance for very mirth

Because all Heaven has fallen down to Earth.

And in this mood I'd save my soul, and so

Through pure clean ways right into Heaven go.