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.

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.

Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
read more

Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back.

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.

Our Lady of the Snows.
[Lat., Notre Dames des Neiges.]

Our Lady of the Snows.
[Lat., Notre Dames des Neiges.]

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems read more

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
read more

Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion.

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!