One by one the flakes are falling, Like a silent, ghostlike band; Softly seems the night-wind calling Them, from homes in shadowland. One by one they fill the meadow, Covering its giants grand; Dim of outline, without shadow, Yet they float from shadowland. Up in mid-air, ghostly flitting, Beckoning with small, white hand To the elfin snow-wraiths, sitting Far above in shadowland. And, methinks, a voice is singing Words, I, too, can understand, And its echoes sweetly ringing, Float away to shadowland. "They are spirits," thus discloses Silvery voice from gleaming strand; "Spirits of the summer roses, Dwelling pale in shadowland." "They to earth, once more, are going, Falling from our Father's hand; When the roses shall be blowing, Vacant will be shadowland." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FLUTE-PRIEST SONG FOR RAIN; CEREMONIAL AT THE SUN SPRING by AMY LOWELL MADMAN OF THE SOUTH SIDE by CLARENCE MAJOR APPROACH OF WINTER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE DIRTY OLD MAN by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM EMPEDOCLES ON ETNA; A DRAMATIC POEM by MATTHEW ARNOLD SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 26 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |