This is one of my favorite poems we've done so far this year:
The First Snow-Fall by James Russell Lowell
THE SNOW had begun in the gloaming, | |
| And busily all the night | |
| Had been heaping field and highway | |
| With a silence deep and white. | |
| Every pine and fir and hemlock | 5 |
| Wore ermine too dear for an earl, | |
| And the poorest twig on the elm-tree | |
| Was ridged inch deep with pearl. | |
| From sheds new-roofed with Carrara | |
| Came Chanticleer’s muffled crow, | 10 |
| The stiff rails softened to swan’s-down, | |
| And still fluttered down the snow. | |
| I stood and watched by the window | |
| The noiseless work of the sky, | |
| And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, | 15 |
| Like brown leaves whirling by. | |
| I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn | |
| Where a little headstone stood; | |
| How the flakes were folding it gently, | |
| As did robins the babes in the wood. | 20 |
| Up spoke our own little Mabel, | |
| Saying, “Father, who makes it snow?” | |
| And I told of the good All-father | |
| Who cares for us here below. | |
| Again I looked at the snow-fall, | 25 |
| And thought of the leaden sky | |
| That arched o’er our first great sorrow, | |
| When that mound was heaped so high. | |
| I remembered the gradual patience | |
| That fell from that cloud like snow, | 30 |
| Flake by flake, healing and hiding | |
| The scar that renewed our woe. | |
| And again to the child I whispered, | |
| “The snow that husheth all, | |
| Darling, the merciful Father | 35 |
| Alone can make it fall!” | |
| Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; | |
| And she, kissing back, could not know | |
| That my kiss was given to her sister, | |
| Folded close under deepening snow. | 40 |
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