Snow-Storm, The

See, the sky is densely covered with a gray & dismal cloud,
Pouring down in fleecy plenty all its pendant weight of snow,
Wrapping wood & field & meadow in a cold & glittering shroud,
While like tortured spirits howling, loud the winds of winter blow.

Fiercely drives the thickening tempest, in its gloom the day is dark,
Fast the flakes begin to gather, on the hilltop brown & bare,
Where, through all the shining summer, soared & sang the merry lark,
But no merry bird of summer, now may pour his music there.

Far around as eye can traverse, spreads a sheet of spotless white,
Faster yet the snow is falling, & the air is keen & chill,
How the storm’s increasing valleys, on the rattling windows smite!
How they sweep with wilder fury, o’er the bleak, unsheltered hill!

Downward come the blasts careening from the mountain summits cold,
On their way impetuous rushing, high the feathery flakes they lift,
And around, the rocks & fences, in a light & graceful fold,
Curve & twine them to the outline of the high, fantastic drift.