The Snow Storm

The Great soft downy snow storm like a cloak  
Descends to wrap the lean world head to feet;  
It gives the dead another winding sheet,  
It buries all the roofs until the smoke  
Seems like a soul that from its clay has broke.  
It broods moon-like upon the Autumn wheat,  
And visits all the trees in their retreat  
To hood and mantle that poor shivering folk.  
With wintry bloom it fills the harshest grooves  
In jagged pine stump fences. Every sound  
It hushes to the footstep of a nun.  
Sweet Charity! that brightens where it moves  
Inducing darkest bits of churlish ground  
To give a radiant answer to the sun.