Helge Rode

1870-1937 / Denmark

Snow

There is nothing in the world that’s as silent as snow
when gently through air it’s decending,
muffles each step you take,
hushes, shushes makes
quiet the voices that the air are rending.

There is nothing in the world with the pureness of snow,
Swan-down from the white wings of heaven
On your hand a flake
tear-dew seems to make.
White thoughts silently a dance are treading.

There is nothing in the world that can soften like snow.
Hush, you’re listening to what’s silent singing.
Oh, a sound so fine,
silver bells sublime
in the inmost reaches of your heart are ringing.
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