 Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Red for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Red for LibriVox.org by Anna Roberts Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Red by Caliban Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibriVox.org by Dana Meilinger in December 2009 Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds in her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence in Brampton Christmas 2009 Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take sudden shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibriVox.org by Daniel Watkins Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibriVox.org by Ernst Batinarma December 22nd 2009 Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Iswa in Belgium in December 2009 Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Josh Linton December 2009 Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by James O'Connor December 2009 Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Leanne Howlett Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Linda Lee Pickett Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Matthew Boards Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments Over the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Neelu Ayur Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Ruth Golding Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Revan Notajum Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Rose264 Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Read for LibreVox.org by Sean McGahey Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow descends the snow Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression Even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession The troubled sky reveals the grief it feels This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded Now whispered and revealed to wood and field End of poem