THE SNOWING OF THE PINES 195 



allied with the songs of morn, with the quiet of 

 noonday, with social gatherings under the evening 

 sky, and with all the beauty and attractiveness of 

 every season. Nowhere does nature look more 

 lovely, or the sounds from birds and insects, and 

 from inanimate things, affect us more deeply, than 

 in their benevolent shade. Never does the blue 

 sky appear more serene than when its dappled azure 

 glimmers through their green trembling leaves. 

 Their shades, which, in the early ages, were the 

 temples of religion and philosophy, are still the 

 favorite resort of the studious, the scene of health- 

 ful sport for the active and adventurous, and the 

 very sanctuary of peaceful seclusion for the contem- 

 plative and sorrowful. 



THE SNOWING OF THE PINES* 



BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON 



SOFTER than silence, stiller than still air, 



Float down from high pine-boughs the slender leaves. 



The forest floor its annual boon receives 



That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair. 



Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare 



Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves 



Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves 



Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear. 



* By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



