A little treat for the snow. You wouldn’t believe the bad rep it gets. Maybe you would. But…’tis the season for forgiveness?
A subtle difference is in the sky,
A light to dream or softly whisper by—
As if, with Heaven’s quiet grace endowed,
A candle flame were whisk’d within each cloud,
And showing faintly through the grey-cast veil
That makes some shining Ceremony pale
Concealing kindled starlight from our eyes
Lest we perceive what angels realize;
Oh still that thrill of eager wonder bright
We feel for this white magic at mid-night.
What Hand has cut the pattern of a star?
The crystal cast we see not; for we are
The wakeful pilgrims in a slumberous Sound,
Seeking the sky while wingless on the ground,
As one whose steadfast gaze is for the ice
To glimpse by rare reflection, Paradise.
A thousand, thousand lights we cannot see
A thousand tokens of their Mystery
That fall in dove-down, weightless as the air
To shine as winter starlight in your hair.
Do you recall the wind-wraith at our door
Who worried you with rattle and with roar?
Though all his wrath and flurry he should bend
His howling shall not win him our defense.
For glittering upon the stair, the lane
And frosting fairy marvels on the pane
Can you make out the meaning of this sign
And trace these feather-thrillings’ rare design?
This world can never be our rest, our Home
But in our exile, we are not alone.
What fear have we of winter wind and chill
In resting here upon the windowsill—
And warmly dressed, your little hand in mine,
We look upon rich wonders undefined
That cannot match for glitter and surprise
The living fire in your eager eyes.
The storm is gentler than its herald wild
And there are marvels yet to see, dear child;
Come quickly, come!—and let us haste to know
The secrets writ upon the fallen snow.