White are the far-off fields
And white the fading forests grow;
The wind dies out amongst the tides
Denser still the snow
A gathering weight on roof and tree
Falls down scarce audibly

The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snowfall hoods me around;
In wood and water, earth and air
Silence is everywhere

Save when at lonely spells
Some farmer's sleigh is urged on
With rustling runners and sharp bells
Swings by me and is gone;
From the empty space I hear
A sound remote and clear;

The barking of a dog
To cattle, is sharply pued
Borne, echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent and the snow
Falls settling soft and slow
The evening deepens and the grey
Folds closer Earth to sky
The world seems so shrouded, so far away
Its noises sleep, and I
As secret as yon buried stream
Plod dumbly on and dream

I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream