DECEMBER 305 



tuitous days that are filled with prescient joys of Spring. 

 But a perfect Winter picture, always so acceptable at this 

 mirthful time, is when 



" Fiercely flies 



The blast of north and east, and ice 

 Makes daggers at the sharpened eaves," 



and the garden is covered with snow, the feathery Arbor vite 

 symbol of unchanging friendship sparkling with snow- 

 jewels ; the yew's sad foliage emblem of longevity and life 

 eternal made joyous and pretty with its white burden of 

 snow. Snow : how many of us give a thought to the beauties 

 of it, except it be the children, who, watching from the win- 

 dow, clap their little hands as the feathery flakes fall from 

 the sky ? How many of us ever consider the world of beauty 

 contained in a single snowflake, those wonderful six-rayed 

 crystals, like so many clusters of pale Spring anemones whose 

 blossoms are also six-rayed ? So Nature in her lowest form, 

 the frail snowflake, hails this happy season by displaying its 

 countless perfect stars. 



" The snowflakes flutter down from angel- wings, 

 The brown bare branches whisper * To us cling ! ' 

 The snowflake voices say ' 'Twill soon be Spring ! ' 

 I watch them fall milk-white from pearl-grey skies. 

 What are they frozen tears from angels' eyes ? 

 Or petals from the blooms of Paradise ? 

 And, looking o'er God's acre, there they lay 

 Like letters from the Land of Endless Day, 

 Brief missives from the world of Far-away. 

 My lattice, ivy-draped to the veiled light 

 I ope, they flutter in pure, frail, and white, 

 Their crystals sparkling in the room's firelight. 

 White messengers, to what end were you born ? 

 I bend o'er you, at one breath you are gone ! " 



