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Normale Version: The First Snow
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The First Snow

Thy mantle white is on the senseless earth,
Spirit of Winter; old Æolus rude
Pipes from his northern home in fiercest mood;
And o’er the crispéd wreaths with shouts of mirth,

And chiming bells, and laughter ringing free,
Glides the swift sleigh; while merry urchins play,
Tossing the frozen balls in heart-felt glee,
Or forming uncouth shapes of monsters grim,

To melt like youthful hopes, when next the ray
Of noontide streams on each misshapen limb.
The nacked branches wear a spotless vest;

While through the window infant faces peep,
Lured from their downy beds and early sleep,
Wondering to mark the earth in wintry garments drest.