The Song of the Snow



For whether winter comes, or not, the air

Turns white; and kisses comforts all goodbye.

This is the soft descent: there’s mercy, there,

That in this ice may even winter die.


I know that born this night were many deaths:

My faith in One is scattered. At His feast

I leave donations, meagre stockings out

For roofless others in the locking-out

Of eager souls; leave snowflakes for the rest,

And weep beside the cheery mantelpiece.


I pray the living share the lights they’ve got,

That softer gods still walk amongst the living:

And whether one believes in living God,

We’ll share a love of giving.





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