No breath of wind, No gleam of sun -- Still the white snow Whirls softly down -- Twig and bough And blade and thorn All in an icy Quiet, forlorn. Whispering, rustling, Through the air, On sill and stone, Roof -- everywhere, It heaps its powdery Crystal flakes, Of every tree A mountain makes; Till pale and faint At shut of day, Stoops from the West One wintry ray. And, feathered in fire, Where ghosts the moon, A robin shrills His lonely tune. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHRUBBERY, WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION by WILLIAM COWPER TO ANTHEA [WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING] by ROBERT HERRICK THE SCRUTINY; SONG by RICHARD LOVELACE LETTER TO B.W. PROCTOR, ESQ., FROM OXFORD; MAY, 1825 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ASSASSINS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT OUR LADY OF CONSOLATION by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |