The Snow-Storm
It snows! it snows! from out the sky
The feathered flakes, how fast they fly,
Like little birds, that don’t know why
They’re on the chase, from place to place,
While neither can the other trace!
It snows, it snows! a merry play
Is o’er us, on this sombre day.
As dancers in time’s airy hall,
That not a moment holds them all,
While some keep up, and others fall,
The atoms shift; then, thick and swift,
They drive along to form the drift,
That weaving up, so dazzling white,
Is rising like a wall of light.
But now the wind comes, whistling loud,
To snatch and waft it, as a cloud,
Or giant phantom in a shroud.
It spreads,—it curls,—it mounts and whirls;
At length a mighty wing unfurls;
And then, away!—but where, none knows,
Or ever will.—It snows! it snows!
To-morrow will the storm be done;
Then out will come the golden sun!
And we shall, we shall see, upon the run
Before his beams, in sparkling streams,
What now a curtain o’er him seems.
And thus, with life it ever goes;—
’Tis shade and shine! It snows, it snows!