Classic Poem

'Twas sung by a poet of long ago,
The grace and the charm of the " Beautiful Snow, "
Yet who the poet was none may know.
For the snow that falleth so soft and deep,
Safe from our eyes its poet doth keep,
Wrapped in oblivion, fast asleep!
Yet, who would not, when the north winds blow,
Sleep with the violets, safe and low,
Lulled and hushed by the motherly snow?
So I think as the flakes go by,
White as angels, down from the sky,
Folded safe in the fields to lie,
A peace comes down with the winter's white
That seems to set all the old world right,
A charity, pure, and wide, and bright.
Then there comes in the taste of the air,
A zest and sparkle that's sweet and rare,
That draws the stings and the hurts of care.
The woods are a forest of coral white,
The fences are Alps of mimic height.
With crests and arabesques all bedight!
Glows then gather in evening's skies,
Hints of the soul's divine emprise,
So soft and blending the color lies;
Lavender, gray, and purple hues,
Gold and ruby, the west suffuse,
Rarer than ever in summer's dews.
What though the diamond melts as it warms,
Now, on my hand, yet the beautiful forms
Tell of the wealth of the God of storms!
Thus the flakes that softly alight,
Turning the earth to a faery sight.
Tell of a power to make pure and white
Even the souls in the thrall of sin,
Bidding His white peace enter in,
Bidding His reign of love begin.
So it is, when I hear the sound
Of merry sleigh-bells echoing round,
That the earth still smiles, though snowy gowned!
And I say with reverence, whispered low, —
Say with the poet of years ago, —
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful snow!