The storm is over, the land hushes to rest

Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid A million buds but stay their blossoming And trustful birds have built their nests amid The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing Till one soft shower from the south shall bid And hither tempt the …

When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town.

Good melody is never out of fashion

Poetry's magic lies in the imagery which satifies even without interpretation..it is accepted as easily as it was created.

For beauty being the best of all we know Sums up the unsearchable and secret aims Of nature.

They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing; Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees.