THE SNOW-STORM 
BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow; and, driving o’er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, 
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end. 
Come see the north-wind’s masonry! 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with file, the fierce artificer v 
Curves his white bastions with projected roof 
Round eveiy windward stake or tree or door; 
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
So fanciful, so savage; naught cares he 
For number or proportion. Mockingly, 
(5n coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; 
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; 
And when his hours are numbered, and the world 
Is all his own, retiring as he were not, 
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone. 
Built in an age, the mad wind’s night-work, 
The frolic architecture of the snow. 
