White are the far-off plains And white the fading forests grow The wind dies out along the height Denser still the snow A gathering weight on roof and tree Falls down scarce audibly The meadows and far-sheeted streams Lie still without a sound Like some soft minister of dreams The snowfall hoods me around In wood and water, earth and air A silence is everywhere Save when it lowly spills Some farmer's sleigh is urged on With rustling runners and sharp bells
Swings by me and is gone Or from the empty waste I hear A sound remote and clear The barking of a dog To cattle is sharply pealed Borne echoing from some wayside stall Or barnyard far afield Then all is silent and the snow Falls settling soft and slow The evening deepens and the gray Folds closer earth and sky The world seems shrouded so far away Its noises sleep, and I As secret as yon buried stream Plod dumbly on and dream And dream...