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Poem by Thomas Wentworth Higginson


The Snowing of the Pines


SOFTER than silence, stiller than still air
Float down from high pine-boughs the slender leaves.
The forest floor its annual boon receives
That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair.
Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare
Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves
Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves
Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear.
Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce their way;
High up, the crows are gathering for the night;
The delicate needles fill the air; the jay
Takes through their golden mist his radiant flight;
They fall and fall, till at November's close
The snow-flakes drop as lightly--snows on snows. 



Thomas Wentworth Higginson


Thomas Wentworth Higginson's other poems:
  1. The Trumpeter
  2. Decoration
  3. The Baby Sorceress
  4. To Duty
  5. Ode to a Butterfly


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