| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | IV. The Snow | | By Benjamin Penhallow Shillaber (1814–1890) |
| | | NOW white and beautiful creation lies, | |
| Nursing its struggling germs beneath the veil; | |
| On rushing wings the fairy snow-flake flies, | |
| Urged by the breath of the on-hurrying gale. | |
| Now jingling bells thrill wildly on the ear, | 5 |
| As vying coursers dart along the way, | |
| Now rise in chorus tones of blithest cheer, | |
| As beams the moon with calm, untroubled ray. | |
| I bless the snow! How fair its glittering sheen, | |
| How pure and holy is its pearly light! | 10 |
| Clad in its robe, the earth looks like a queen | |
| In the chaste vesture of her bridal night. | |
| ’T is passing fair,—yet hardly fair is that,— | |
| An avalanche, confound it, crushes in my hat! | | | | |
|
|
