The First Snow-Fall
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- The snow had begun in the gloaming,
- And busily all the night
- Had been heaping field and highway
- With a silence deep and white.
- Every pine and fir and hemlock
- Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
- And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
- Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.
- From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
- Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
- The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
- And still fluttered down the snow.
- I stood and watched by the window
- The noiseless work of the sky,
- And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
- Like brown leaves whirling by.
- I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
- Where a little headstone stood;
- How the flakes were folding it gently,
- As did robins the babes in the wood.
- Up spoke our own little Mabel,
- Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
- And I told of the good All-father
- Who cares for us here below.
- Again I looked at the snow-fall,
- And thought of the leaden sky
- That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
- When that mound was heaped so high.
- I remembered the gradual patience
- That fell from that cloud like snow,
- Flake by flake, healing and hiding
- The scar of our deep-plunged woe.
- And again to the child I whispered,
- "The snow that husheth all,
- Darling, the merciful Father
- Alone can make it fall!"
- Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
- And she, kissing back, could not know
- That _my_ kiss was given to her sister,
- Folded close under deepening snow.
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