Page:Flora (Heinemann 1919).djvu/56

 THE SNOWFLAKE See, now, this filigree: ’tis snow,

Shaped, in the void, of heavenly dew;

On winds of space like flower to blow

In a wilderness of blue.

Black are those pines. The utter cold

Hath frozen to silence the birds’ green woods.

Rime hath ensteeled the wormless mould,

A vacant quiet broods. Lo, this entranced thing!—a breath

Of life that bids Man’s heart to crave

Still for perfection: ere fall death,

And earth shut in his grave. 32