The First Snow Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
The first snow came. How beautiful it was, falling so silently all day long, all night long, on the mountains, on the meadows, on the roofs of the living, on the tombs of the dead! All was white except the river, which made its way by a winding black line across the landscape; and the leafless trees, which against the grey sky now showed more fully the wonderful beauty and intricacies of their branches. What silence, too, came with the snow, and what seclusion! Every sound was muffled, every noise changed to something soft and musical. No more tramping hoofs, no more rattling wheels! Only the chiming of the sleigh-bells, beating as swift and merrily as the hearts of children.
