Say, whence come the snow-flakes —the pure, fleecy snow-flakes,
That flutter so softly, so tremblingly by?
Are they foam from the ocean of ether above us,
Or petals from roses that blow in the sky?
Do seraphs who wander beside the still waters,
Or linger, entranced, in fair bowers above,
Keep culling the leaves of the blossoms around them
To scatter them earthward as tokens of love ?

Are they down, that the beautiful Angel of Summer,
At parting, so noiselessly shakes from her wings ?
Or heralds sent forth by the glittering Frost-King
To tell of the jewels he lavishly brings?
Oh ! I sometimes half dream, as I watch the flakes falling,
That 'tis Purity's self gliding down from the skies,
Till, meeting our earth-damps of sin and pollution,
They melt her to tears and of pity she dies.