Softly they descend,

Like an orchard blossom

Scattered by the wind.

Here and there they’re flying

Over all the trees,

High above them swarming

Like white-winged bees.

Faster still they’re whirling,

Dancing into sight,

Like a troop of fairies

When the moon is light.

Tripping down the highway

In a reckless gait,

Falling like a feather

Without sound or weight.

On the distant churchyard

Over graves unkept,

Where the leaves have drifted

And the clouds have wept.

Little band of angels

Doing only good,

Making white the meadow

And the lonely wood.

Greeting with light kisses

All they chance to meet,

Leaving shining footprints

All about the street.

Little winter children

Full of life and fun—

Oh! I love the snow-flakes,

Love them every one.