Out of the bosom of the Air <br />Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, <br />Over the woodlands brown and bare, <br />Over the harvest-fields forsaken, <br />Silent, and soft, and slow <br />Descends the snow. <br /> <br />Even as our cloudy fancies take <br />Suddenly shape in some divine expression, <br />Even as the troubled heart doth make <br />In the white countenance confession <br />The troubled sky reveals <br />The grief it feels. <br /> <br />This is the poem of the air, <br />Slowly in silent syllables recorded; <br />This is the secret of despair, <br />Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, <br />Now whispered and revealed <br />To wood and field.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/snow-flakes-birds-of-passage-flight-the-second/
