Is snow and never-ending snow:
Whirling aloft in spiral clouds,
Weaving in misty, crystal shrouds,
Then floating back to earth again
To drift across the frozen plain
In strangely sculptured trough and crest,
Like some slow ocean's heaving breast.
Such night is not for mortal kind
To fare abroad; the bitter wind,
The restless snows, the frost-locked mold