The North Wind stooped and cried to her, “Stop!
There is room in my icy halls to dwell!”
The snowflake gleamed like a crystal clear,
Then wept herself to a single tear,
Paused, trembled, and slowly began to glide
Adown the slopes of the mountain-side.
Desolate ledges, frost-riven and bare,
A tiny rivulet bore on their breast;
Cloud-gray mosses and lichens fair
Mutely besought her to slumber and rest.