Explore "Snow-Flakes" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.
Even as our cloudy fancies take / Suddenly shape in some divine expression, / Even as the troubled heart doth make / In the white countenance confession, / The troubled sky reveals / The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air, / Slowly in silent syllables recorded; / This is the secret of despair, / Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, / Now whispered and revealed / To wood and field.