THE SNOWING OF THE PINES
by: Thomas Wentworth Higginson
- OFTER than
silence, stiller than still air
- Float down from high pine-boughs the slender leaves.
- The forest floor its annual boon receives
- That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair.
- Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare
- Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves
- Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves
- Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear.
- Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce their way;
- High up, the crows are gathering for the night;
- The delicate needles fill the air; the jay
- Takes through their golden mist his radiant flight;
- They fall and fall, till at November's close
- The snow-flakes drop as lightly -- snows on snows.
MORE POEMS BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
"The Snowing of the Pines"
is reprinted from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900.
Ed. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.