The Snow Storm Poem by George Hannibal Temple

The trailing clouds scowl o'er the shadowed main,
And boisterous north winds, coming on apace,
Sing loud discordant notes in weird refrain,
Nor beast, nor bird comes from its hiding place.


It snows; the drifting crystals, pure and white,
Now gambol wildly in the ambient air,
Like orange blossoms on a summer's night,
When tossed by zephyrs, and strewn everywhere.


Now spreads the silver shroud the landscape o'er,
And tree and shrub are sheathed in white around;
Locked up in snow, the rill is seen no more,
No more its waters through the dell resound.


The boreal gust sweeps through the laden trees,
And crystal fleece from trembling branches show'r,
These flutter hither, thither in the breeze,
And sprightly scatter o'er the whiten'd floor.


The cloud-like drifts of snow, with silent sweep
And blinding fury, now come storming on;
Here, shallow spread, there, driven wide and deep,
With muffled beat, they dash upon the lawn.


Contending winds the weary combat yield,
A solemn hush broods o'er the snowy tract;
Lo, thicker pours the shower o'er the field,
And nature's covered with a dense compact!