White are the far-off plains
And white the fading forests grow
The wind dies out along the height
Denser still the snow
A gathering weight on roof and tree
Falls down scarce audibly

The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snowfall hoods me around
In wood and water, earth and air
A silence is everywhere

Save when it lowly spills
Some farmer's sleigh is urged on
With rustling runners and sharp bells
Swings by me and is gone
Or from the empty waste I hear
A sound remote and clear

The barking of a dog
To cattle is sharply pealed
Borne echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield
Then all is silent and the snow
Falls settling soft and slow

The evening deepens and the gray
Folds closer earth and sky
The world seems shrouded so far away
Its noises sleep, and I
As secret as yon buried stream
Plod dumbly on and dream
And dream...

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