The snow came softly, silently, down

Into the streets of the dark old town;

And lo! by the wind it was swept and piled

On the sleeping form of a beggar-child.

It kissed her cheek, and it filled her hair

With crystals that looked like diamonds there;

And she dreamed that she was a fair young bride

In a pure white dress by her husband's side.

A blush crept over her pale young face,

And her thin lips smiled with a girlish grace;

But the old storm-king made his boast aloud

That his work that night was weaving a shroud.