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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=578440" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Spirit Of The Snow</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night brings forth the morn-<br>Of the cloud is lightning born;<br>From out the darkest earth the brightest roses grow.<br>Bright sparks from black flints fly,<br>And from out a leaden sky<br>Comes the silvery-footed Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wondering air grows mute,<br>As her pearly parachute<br>Cometh slowly down from heaven, softly floating to and fro;<br>And the earth emits no sound,<br>As lightly on the ground<br>Leaps the silvery-footed Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the contact of her tread,<br>The mountain's festal head,<br>As with chaplets of white roses, seems to glow;<br>And its furrowed cheek grows white<br>With a feeling of delight,<br>At the presence of the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As she wendeth to the vale,<br>The longing fields grow pale-<br>The tiny streams that vein them cease to flow;<br>And the river stays its tide<br>With wonder and with pride,<br>To gaze upon the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But little doth she deem<br>The love of field or stream-<br>She is frolicsome and lightsome as the roe;<br>She is here and she is there,<br>On the earth or in the air,<br>Ever changing, floats the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now a daring climber, she<br>Mounts the tallest forest tree-<br>Out along the giddy branches doth she go;<br>And her tassels, silver-white,<br>Down swinging through the night,<br>Mark the pillow of the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now she climbs the mighty mast,<br>When the sailor boy at last<br>Dreams of home in his hammock down below<br>There she watches in his stead<br>Till the morning sun shines red,<br>Then evanishes the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or crowning with white fire.<br>The minster's topmost spire<br>With a glory such as sainted foreheads show;<br>She teaches fanes are given<br>Thus to lift the heart to heaven,<br>There to melt like the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now above the loaded wain,<br>Now beneath the thundering train,<br>Doth she hear the sweet bells tinkle and the snorting engine blow;<br>Now she flutters on the breeze,<br>Till the branches of the trees<br>Catch the tossed and tangled tresses of the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now an infant's balmy breath<br>Gives the spirit seeming death,<br>When adown her pallid features fair Decay's damp dew-drops flow;<br>Now again her strong assault<br>Can make an army halt,<br>And trench itself in terror 'gainst the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At times with gentle power,<br>In visiting some bower,<br>She scarce will hide the holly's red, the blackness of the sloe;<br>But, ah! her awful might,<br>When down some Alpine height<br>The hapless hamlet sinks before the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On a feather she floats down<br>The turbid rivers brown,<br>Down to meet the drifting navies of the winter-freighted floe;<br>Then swift o'er the azure walls<br>Of the awful waterfalls,<br>Where Niagara leaps roaring, glides the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With her flag of truce unfurled,<br>She makes peace o'er all the world-<br>Makes bloody battle cease awhile, and war's unpitying woe;<br>Till, its hollow womb within,<br>The deep dark-mouthed culverin<br>Encloses, like a cradled child, the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She uses in her need<br>The fleetly-flying steed-<br>Now tries the rapid reindeer's strength, and now the camel slow;<br>Or, ere defiled by earth,<br>Unto her place of birth,<br>Returns upon the eagle's wing the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oft with pallid figure bowed,<br>Like the Banshee in her shroud,<br>Doth the moon her spectral shadow o'er some silent gravestone throw;<br>Then moans the fitful wail,<br>And the wanderer grows pale,<br>Till at morning fades the phantom of the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In her ermine cloak of state<br>She sitteth at the gate<br>Of some winter-prisoned princess in her palace by the Po;<br>Who dares not to come forth<br>Till back unto the North<br>Flies the beautiful besieger-the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In her spotless linen hood,<br>Like the other sisterhood,<br>She braves the open cloister when the psalm sounds sweet and low;<br>When some sister's bier doth pass<br>From the minster and the Mass,<br>Soon to sink into the earth, like the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But at times so full of joy,<br>She will play with girl and boy,<br>Fly from out their tingling fingers, like white fireballs on the foe;<br>She will burst in feathery flakes,<br>And the ruin that she makes<br>Will but wake the crackling laughter of the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or in furry mantle drest,<br>She will fondle on her breast<br>The embryo buds awaiting the near Spring's mysterious throe;<br>So fondly that the first<br>Of the blossoms that outburst<br>Will be called the beauteous daughter of the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! would that we were sure<br>Of hearts so warmly pure,<br>In all the winter weather that this lesser life must know;<br>That when shines the Sun of Love<br>From the warmer realm above,<br>In its light we may dissolve, like the Spirit of the Snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Denis+Florence+MacCarthy">Denis Florence MacCarthy</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=578440" data-title="The Spirit Of The Snow de Denis Florence MacCarthy" data-description="The night brings forth the morn-
Of the cloud is lightning born;
From out the darkest earth the brightest roses grow.
Bright sparks from black flints fly,
And from out a leaden sky
Comes the silvery-footed Spirit of the Snow.

The wondering air gr..."></div>
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