Christmas Snow

Harriet Prescott Spofford

The air is full of frozen flowers;

The snow, the snow is falling,

And all the voices of the north

Upon the winds are calling.

Come, high winds, low winds, sing across the snowing

Swells and falls and dying lulls and wild breath blowing!

Weird realm of wonder and of awe,

With ice-fields darkly crashing.

Where cohorts of the cold go forth,

With great auroras flashing,

Your high winds, low winds, blow across the meadows,

Blow, with all your bitter will, with all your eery shadows.

Blow, you dark north, o’er hill and dale,

With many a mile of drifting,

From dawn till purple twilight blow,

Swift, swift your silver sifting,—

Yet sweet world, yet glad world, despite the stormy singing,

The heart of all the earth is warm while Christmas bells are ringing!