Classic Poem

From the sombre clouds fell snow
On the meadows far below,
On the river late so calm,
When the waves had hushed their psalm.
Through the softly falling snow
Something fluttered to and fro,
Gold light shimmered through the snow;
And a murmur filled the air.
Was it melody or prayer?

Like resplendent shooting stars
Radiance gleamed through snow-flake bars;
Through the silence of the night,
Said the trav'ler on the height,
“What can be that vision rare?”
'Twas a maid with golden hair,
Singing in the frosty air,
Ay,—a carol faint and low,—
Through the softly falling snow.

Glad the shepherd piped at home,
And the hunter feared to roam,
For the waves had hushed their psalms
Folded in the ice king's arms.
But the echoes brought a strain
To the ear against the pane,
As the maid sang this refrain:
“Life hath joy and life hath woe!”—
Through the softly falling snow.

Plaintively the weird notes fell
With a sorrow in their swell;
Tenderly the soft voice rose,
Speaking pain and yet repose.
Said the knight with hasty feet,
“What can be that music sweet,
Quickening the warm heart's beat?”
“Life hath joy and life hath woe!”—
Through the softly falling snow.

Thicker fell the snowflakes white,
Wilder grew the stormy night;
Louder, stronger came the strain,
Deeper with its sense of pain.
And the golden radiance still
Shimmered 'neath the ice-bound hill,
As she sang with deathless will:
“Life hath love: ah! be it so!”—
Through the softly falling snow.

As the swan's most perfect lay
Tells it may not longer stay,
So those flute-like notes seemed lent
By some seraph earthward sent.
Yet once more the calm voice rose,
Faint, but sweet with rare repose,
And the strain did not quite close.
“Life hath love,” was all to flow
Through the softly falling snow.