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[ Also see Christmas Cold Icicles Nature Rain Storms Water Weather Winter ]

Sancta Maria ad Nives.
      - Unattributed Author,
        name of the basilica dedicated to Our Lady, now known as Santa Maria Maggiora

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.
      - Unattributed Author,
        On Chloris walking in the Snow,
        in "Wit's Recreations", J.C. Hotten's reprint, p. 308 (1640)

Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste
  Stream down the snows, till the air is white,
    As, myriads by myriads madly chased,
      They fling themselves from their shadowy height.
        The fair, frail creatures of middle sky,
          What speed they make, with their grave so nigh;
            Flake after flake,
              To lie in the dark and silent lake!
      - William Cullen Bryant

Stand here by my side and turn, I pray,
  On the lake below thy gentle eyes;
    The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray,
      And dark and silent the water lies;
        And out of that frozen mist the snow
          In wavering flakes begins to flow;
            Flake after flake,
              They sink in the dark and silent lake.
      - William Cullen Bryant

Lo. sifted through the winds that blow,
  Down comes the soft and silent snow,
    White petals from the flowers that grow
      In the cold atmosphere.
      - George W. Bungay, The Artists of the Air

A cheer for the snow--the drifting snow;
  Smoother and purer than Beauty's brow;
    The creature of thought scarce likes to tread
      On the delicate carpet so richly spread.
        With feathery wreaths the forest is bound,
          And the hills are with glittering diadems crown'd:
            'Tis the fairest scene we can have below.
              Sing, welcome, then, to the drifting snow!
      - Eliza Cook

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.
      - George Crabbe, Inebriety

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
  Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
    Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
      Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
        And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
          The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
            Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
              Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
                In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
      - Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Snow-Storm

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.
      - Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Snow-Storm

Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snowflakes fall, each one a gem.
      - William Hamilton Gibson

How beautiful it was, falling so silently, all day long, all night long, on the mountains, on the meadows, on the roofs of the living, on the graves of the dead!
      - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
  Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
    Over the woodlands brown and bare,
      Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
        Silent, and soft, and slow
          Descends the snow.
      - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Snow-Flakes

Where's the snow
  That fell the year that's fled--where's the snow?
      - Samuel Lover, The Snow

Our Lady of the Snows.
  [Lat., Notre Dames des Neiges.]
      - Emile Nelligan, the title of a poem

The silence of snow, thought the man sitting just behind the bus driver.
      - Orhan Pamuk, Snow

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.]
      - Francois Rabelais, Pantagruel (ch. XIV)

A little snow, tumbled about, anon becomes a mountain.
      - William Shakespeare

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.
      - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
         (Juliet at III, ii)

If but a dozen French
  Were there in arms, they would be as a call
    To train ten thousand English to their side,
      Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
        Anon becomes a mountain.
      - William Shakespeare,
        The Life and Death of King John
         (Pandulph at III, iv)

O that I were a mockery king of snow,
  Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke
    To melt myself away in water drops!
      - William Shakespeare,
        The Tragedy of King Richard the Second
         (King Richard at IV, i)

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.
      - William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale
         (Autolycus at IV, iv)

On turf and curb and bower-roof
  The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof;
    It paves with pearl the garden-walk;
      And lovingly around the tatter'd stalk
        And snivering stem its magic weaves
          A mantle fair as lily-leaves.
      - John Townsend Trowbridge

The speckled sky is dim with snow,
  The light flakes falter and fall slow;
    Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale,
      Silently drops a silvery veil; And all the valley is shut in
        By flickering curtains gray and thin.
      - John Townsend Trowbridge

But where are the snows of yester year?
  [Fr., Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?]
      - Francois Villon,
        Ballade des Dames du Temps Jadis

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
  Filling the sky and earth below,
    Over the housetops, over the street,
      Over the heads of the people you meet.
            Skimming along.
      - J.W. (Joseph Warren) Watson,
        Beautiful Snow,
        sometimes claimed as written by John Whitaker Watson or James Warren Watson, known to have been published by a "J.W. Watson" in "Ypsilanti Commercial" on Jan. 8, 1870

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