Poem by Jonathan Swift

On Snow

From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin,
No lady alive can show such a skin.
I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather,
But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together.
Though candour and truth in my aspect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to ensnare.
Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,
The foulest impressions I easily take.
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother. 

1. A Rebus. By Vanessa
2. Dean Swift at Sir Arthur Acheson’s, in the North of Ireland
3. At Holyhead
4. Verses on Blenheim
5. Drapier’s Hill

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