It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain,-
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem,-
The summer’s empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen,-
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.

~Emily Dickinson

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6 Responses to Snow

  1. nat @book, line, and sinker
    Twitter: booklineNsinker

    love the poem but not the thought of snow already! i was just in florida for the weekend and as i walked around in capri pants and polo shirts wondered why i’d live anywhere else! lol. we’re getting ready for the snow up here in the northeast. if i can get a snow day from school in the deal, then i’m okay about snow. have a nice weekend!

  2. Sandy
    Twitter: youvegottaread

    Beautiful poem! That is as close to snow as I’m going to get for a long while, I am afraid.

  3. Kathleen says:

    Beautiful poem and picture!