The Snow-Storm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and arises from the ground
Its herald—an ample paste, unbending,
A thousand-layered cloak of white all around.

The woodland bends beneath its weight,
Its burden wilts the branches low—
A joy, yet a twinkling kind of fear,
Encamped in snow, in chill delight,
That swift contagion draws from above
This quiet grace that life begins to grow.

Yet beauty made from storms we also love;
As of those leafless trees who in their scars
Are filled with promise and in the frost explore
A lavish air of bliss henceforth the stars;
For every season hath its own delight,
Bespeaks the wildest winter to be bright.

• Ralph Waldo Emerson