Snow

1895

Myriad clouds, in swift succession blown,
Hang from the heavens, ponderous and gray.
In desolation lies the house of day,
Its azure architecture overthrown.

A wizard choir, the trees in terror moan,
And whilst the winds their wild, weird music play,
Earth from her ancient orbit seems to stray —
A frightened thing, bewildered and alone.

Then, like a swarm of white bees in the
air, the innumerable armies in the sky
Lay siege to the defenseless world below,
Building enchanted bastions everywhere —
Fantastic fortresses and turrets high,
Bright with the shining splendor of the snow!

— F. D. Sherman in Youth's Companion.