Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask read more

Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and for noses,
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber,
Golden quoifs and stomachers
For my lads to give their dears,
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel.

Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
read more

Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare,
And shed their substance on the floating air.

Sancta Maria ad Nives.

Sancta Maria ad Nives.

But where are the snows of yester year?
[Fr., Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?]

But where are the snows of yester year?
[Fr., Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?]

Where's the snow
That fell the year that's fled--where's the snow?

Where's the snow
That fell the year that's fled--where's the snow?

But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest
concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.
read more

But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest
concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.
[Fr., Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan? C'estoit le plus grand
soucy qu'eust Villon, le poete parisien.]

As I saw fair Chloris walk alone,
The feather'd snow came softly down,
As Jove, descending from read more

As I saw fair Chloris walk alone,
The feather'd snow came softly down,
As Jove, descending from his tow'r
To court her in a silver show'r.
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
As little birds into their nest;
But o'ercome with whiteness there,
For grief dissolv'd into a tear.
Thence falling on her garment hem,
To deck her, froze into a gem.

Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
read more

Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion.

Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
read more

Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back.