The Snow

The snow came down, unhasting and unresting, 
Fringed every naked twig in fine array 
Of crystal and white velvet, and its spray 
Hung from the eaves where swallows will be nesting 
In airs of April three months from to-day. 

The snow came down, and made the noisy city 
A place of silence and white purity, 
Changed each gaunt post to some fantastic tree 
Full-fledged with silver flowers, and in its pity, 
Suited in the streets and highways like a sea. 

London lay white and bridal in the morning, 
Wheels went upon their way without a jar, 
And every city-sound was faint and far. 
Now trodden down for every street-boy's scorning 
Lies the white wonder, dead as some dropped star.