They drive along to form the drift,
That weaving up, so dazzling white,
Is rising like a wall of light.
But now the wind comes, whistling loud,
To snatch and waft it, as a cloud,
Or giant phantom in a shroud.
It spreads,—it curls,—it mounts and whirls;
At length a mighty wing unfurls;
And then, away!--but where, none knows,
Or ever will.—It snows! it snows!