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Loreena Mckennitt - Snow |
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White are the far-off plains, and white |
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The fading forests grow; |
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The wind dies out along the height, |
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And denser still the snow |
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A gathering weight on roof and tree, |
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Falls down scarce audibly |
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The meadows and far-sheeted streams |
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Lie still without a sound; |
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Like some soft minister of dreams |
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The snow-fall hoods me round; |
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In wood and water, earth and air |
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A silence everywhere |
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Save when at lonely intervals |
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Some farmer's sleigh, urged on, |
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With rustling runners and sharp bells |
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Swings by me and is gone; |
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Or from the empty waste I hear |
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A sound remote and clear |
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The barking of a dog, or call |
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To cattle, sharply pealed, |
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Borne echoing from some wayside stall |
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Or barnyard far afield; |
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Then all is silent and the snow falls |
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Settling soft and slow |
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The evening deepens and the grey |
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Folds closer earth and sky |
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The world seems shrouded, far away. |
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Its noises sleep, and I as secret as |
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Yon buried stream plod dumbly on and dream. |
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And dream |
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And dream... |
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END |
