Emerson: “The Snow Storm”

Okay, I promise no more snow poems. For a while, at least. But indulge me with this last one, Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “The Snow Storm”:

    “Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
    Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
    Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
    Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
    And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
    The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
    Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
    Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
    In a tumultuous privacy of Storm.”

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