POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2080, 23 October 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

PABODY ON THU! BEAUTIFUL SNOW. From ah American Point op View.

Oh, the Snow—the “ Beautiful Snow ” That flies In yonr face wherever yon go, That’s twisted and twirled In some dizzy old

street Till it blinds yonr poor eyes and freezes your feet Now, it’s all very well, this "Beautiful Snow,” If you’ve wealth in your pocket—and some* where to go— But the poet was born in the summer —I know. That finds something pretty in " Beautiful Snow,”

"Beautiful,” Is it? Humph J "Beautiful Snow! !” The thermometer just three degrees below. Your overcoat pawned—not a cent in your " kick,” And "Beautiful Snow,” till you can’t see a brick On the sidewalk around—ln some “ turf ” country town, And that "Beautiful Snow ” is still coming down. Now, if I had a room, with fire all a-glow, I could envy the "gawk” that wrote " Beautiful Snow.”

" Beautiful,” is it ? Well " Beautiful Snow ’ When it falls on a sinner—with no place to

go. It seems to me now (I’m a practical man And no lovesick damsel, or innocent lamb} j Therefore I can’t be expected, you know. To stand on my head about '‘Beautiful Snow," It seems to me, though, that this " duffer” should go And bury himself in his " Beautiful Snow.”

“Beautiful Snow, from the Heaven above, Pure aa an angel, gentle as love.” I wish they keep it there, and not throw So much down on earth of their “Beautiful Snow.”

"Gentle as love,” How can they say so ? Why see how it sticks—it never will go— March. April, and May might come and might go, But stiil we’d be blest with this “ Beautiful Snow.”