by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.

Let it snow!
Let it snow!
Let it snow!


  1. Judy // January 9, 2010 at 8:32 AM  

    Loved the poem, Toni, even if I don't love snow!! I shiver just thinking of you in your cold, wintry weather. Cute of you to make something nice out of it.

  2. Beth Trissel // January 9, 2010 at 9:12 AM  

    Lovely Toni. You really are in the heart of all this snow.

  3. Mary Marvella // January 9, 2010 at 6:48 PM  

    Lovely job, Toni. I don't envy you this winter.

    Thanks for adding the post today. Loved pictures.

  4. Mary Ricksen // January 9, 2010 at 9:39 PM  

    I love the winter scenes. Sorry that you are living them.

  5. Scarlet Pumpernickel // January 9, 2010 at 10:55 PM  

    Toni, stay warm! Stay inside and write. Nice pictures, but don't take any chance going outside, you might take a fall.

  6. Joanne // January 10, 2010 at 1:54 PM  

    Beautiful photographs, and loved the poem, Toni.

  7. Barbara Monajem // January 10, 2010 at 2:38 PM  

    Is that just a snowdrift, or is something hidden under it?