One by one the flakes are falling, Like a silent, ghostlike band; Softly seems the night-wind calling Them, from homes in shadowland. One by one they fill the meadow, Covering its giants grand; Dim of outline, without shadow, Yet they float from shadowland. Up in mid-air, ghostly flitting, Beckoning with small, white hand To the elfin snow-wraiths, sitting Far above in shadowland. And, methinks, a voice is singing Words, I, too, can understand, And its echoes sweetly ringing, Float away to shadowland. "They are spirits," thus discloses Silvery voice from gleaming strand; "Spirits of the summer roses, Dwelling pale in shadowland." "They to earth, once more, are going, Falling from our Father's hand; When the roses shall be blowing, Vacant will be shadowland." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL HESTER PRYNNE? by KAREN SWENSON THE PRISONER (A FRAGMENT) by EMILY JANE BRONTE ALASTOR; OR, THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY TO EDWARD FITZGERALD by ALFRED TENNYSON TURN O LIBERTAD by WALT WHITMAN SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 3. BEAUTY UNLOOKED FOR by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TO S-----D (1) by WILLIAM BLAKE IN MEMORIAM W.M. & E.B.J. by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SANDY STAR: 1. SCULPTURED WORSHIP by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |