Snow-Flakes
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
|
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.
|
Even as our cloudy fancies take |
Suddenly
shape in some divine expression, |
Even as the troubled heart doth
make |
In the
white countenance confession, |
The troubled sky reveals |
The grief it feels.
|
This is the poem of the air |
Slowly
in silent syllables recorded; |
This is the secret of despair, |
Long in
its cloudy bosom hoarded, |
Now whispered and revealed |
To wood and
field.
|
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Classic
Poems |
|
[ Hiawatha ] [ Snow - Flakes ] |
|