Walter de la Mare Snow

Snow Walter de la Mare No breath of wind, No gleam of sun – Still the white snow Whirls softly down Twig and bough And blade and thorn All in an icy Quiet, forlorn. Whispering, rustling, Through the air On still and stone, Roof, - everywhere, It heaps its powdery Crystal flakes, Of every tree A mountain makes; ‘Til pale and faint At shut of day Stoops from the West One wint’ry ray, And, feathered in fire Where ghosts the moon, A robin shrills His lonely tune.