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   Chapter 237 THE SNOW.

Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete By Emily Dickinson Characters: 614

Updated: 2017-12-01 00:03

It sifts from leaden sieves,

It powders all the wood,

It fills with alabaster wool

The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face

Of mountain and of plain, -

Unbroken forehead from the east

Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,

It wraps it, rail by rail,

Till it is lo

st in fleeces;

It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem, -

The summer's empty room,

Acres of seams where harvests were,

Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,

As ankles of a queen, -

Then stills its artisans like ghosts,

Denying they have been.

* * *

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