POETRY.
SNOW SONG.
Loox how the snow falls and falls On the bare hedge-row and the cold, grey walls ; Till every bush on the road for miles With a soft, white cushion it piles and piles ; Till every willow upon the green On a plump, white pillow its head can lean ; And the children cry to the flakes that are whirled From the wintry sky o'er the wintry world, " Oh I tell us whether, as we have heard, You are each the feather of some fat bird, That old Mother Goose, when she kills her ducks For old Father Christmas, plucks and plucks ; Or are you wee pieces of wool that drop, When they clip the cloud fleeces on Cloudland Top, Or snow, dear snow, are your flakes the flowers That flutter below to this earth of ours From the glittering garlands the angels weave In Silver Starland from morn to eve?" The snow kisses, in answer, the nursery pane, Then darts—a dancer in air again.
ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.
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