Ride to the Lady, and Other Poems — Sister Snow

SISTER SNOW

Praised be our Lord (to echo the sweet phrase Of saintly Francis) for our sister Snow: Whose soft, soft coming never man may know By any sound; whose down-light touch allays All fevers of worn earth.

She clothes the days In garments without spot, and hence doth go Her noiseless shuttle swiftly to and fro, And very pure, and pleasant, are her ways.

But yesterday, how loveless looked the skies!

How cold the sun's last glance, and unbenign, Across the field forsaken, russet-leaved!

Now pearly peace on all the landscape lies.

--Wast thou not sent us, Sister, for a sign Of that vast Mercy of God, else unconceived?

RETROSPECT

"Backward," he said, "dear heart I like to look To those half-spring, half-winter days, when first We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst.

Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook The boughs.

Have you remembered that kind book, That for our sake Galeotto's part rehearsed, (The friend of lovers,--this time blessed, not cursed!

) And that best hour, when reading we forsook?"

She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears At childish fancies needless to control;

Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend.

Better it seemed to think that love of theirs, Native as breath, eternal as the soul, Knew no beginning, could not have an end.