Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the read more

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.

But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest
concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.
read more

But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest
concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.
[Fr., Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan? C'estoit le plus grand
soucy qu'eust Villon, le poete parisien.]

As I saw fair Chloris walk alone,
The feather'd snow came softly down,
As Jove, descending from read more

As I saw fair Chloris walk alone,
The feather'd snow came softly down,
As Jove, descending from his tow'r
To court her in a silver show'r.
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
As little birds into their nest;
But o'ercome with whiteness there,
For grief dissolv'd into a tear.
Thence falling on her garment hem,
To deck her, froze into a gem.

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the read more

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet.
Dancing,
Flirting,
Skimming along.

O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke
To melt read more

O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke
To melt myself away in water drops!

Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
read more

Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare,
And shed their substance on the floating air.

Lo. sifted through the winds that blow,
Down comes the soft and silent snow,
White petals from read more

Lo. sifted through the winds that blow,
Down comes the soft and silent snow,
White petals from the flowers that grow
In the cold atmosphere.

Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask read more

Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and for noses,
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber,
Golden quoifs and stomachers
For my lads to give their dears,
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel.

If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train read more

If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side,
Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain.