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Snow-Flakes(1863)

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
MeterOut of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
MeterOut of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
MeterOver the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
MeterOver the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
MeterSilent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
MeterDescends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
MeterEven as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
MeterSuddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
MeterEven as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
MeterIn the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
MeterThe troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
MeterThe grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
MeterThis is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
MeterSlowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
MeterThis is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
MeterLong in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
MeterNow whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
MeterTo wood and field.

Rhyme
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