  Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, Pink and white drifting of petals sweet, Kiss her and crown her, our Lady of Blossoming, Here as she sits on the apple-tree seat. Has she not gathered the summer about her? Look, how it laughs from her lips and her eyes! Think you the sun there would shine on without her? Nay! 'tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies. Fire of the rose and snow of the jessamine, Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair; Day holds his breath and Night comes up to look at her, Leaving their strife for a vision so rare. Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, Pink and white drifting of petals sweet, Kiss her and crown her, and flutter a-down her, And carpet the ground for her dear little feet. |
|
