Shadows, as the night winds blow,
Softly gather, softly go
Beneath the trees upon the snow.
And the branches sigh and creak
Above the lonely, silent sheet
Of snowy windrows, heap on heap.

Soon, the falling flakes come dancing
With the winter storm advancing;
First, a few, and then, so many,
That the eye can not count any;
Measuring the waiting earth
With a crystalline cloth of endless girth;
Fashioning a lacy gown
Woven from the whitest down.
Now dressed, as in a winding sheet,
Her slumbrous eyes soon close in sleep.
Much later will she stir and waken,
When by Spring her limbs are shaken.