Snowflakes
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
he makes snow seem to be the rarest and most delicate of things.
ReplyDelete