When all the world is under snow, And the wind, crying in the north, Sends its wild choir of voices forth, Now shrieking loud, now falling low, The Snow Witch with her ice-crowned hair Is hurling snowflakes everywhere.
Her garments are the Northern Lights Beyond the bare arms of the trees; And, from her height, she looks and sees Earth’s towns and hamlets lit o’ nights; And sighs, mayhap, far up above, For one poor hearth alight with love.
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