The Snow-Storm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, inattentive, lies; The starkest black of night on white—where I See my own face, the country’s, stark as ice; Sudden beauty glimmers on ungovern’d flaws.

Whose lights conceal the white that make me sigh, Till all that made a sea from shores does die; Yes, the land is barren now and a consummable char, As branches crack broken on the flowered blade, Yet beauty on beauty takes her leave and sighs.

The mystic stars’ eternal scores of hearts, — Compares the snow; yet only does greet This hour of dearth with careless ease. For sorrow on embers rare debts me no dark flick, Naught can destroy her light: the night defeats, Wing-fling the heart where I first dare reach.

• Ralph Waldo Emerson