 The First Snow Fall by James Russell Lowell Read for LibriVox.org by Caitlyn Cooper December 16, 2007 in Covington, Louisiana The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night, had been heaping field and highway with a silent steep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock were ermined too dear for an earl, and the porous twig on the elm tree was ridged and steep with pearl. From Shedd's new roof with Carrera came Shanticleer's muffled crow. The stiff rails softened as swarms down and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window, the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snowbirds like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn, where little headstones stood, how the flakes were folding it gently as did robins, the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, saying, Father, who makes a snow? And I told of the good all-father who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall and thought of the leaden sky that arched o'er our first great sorrow when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from the cloud like snow, flake by flake healing and hiding the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling the merciful father alone can make it fall. Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her, and she kissing back could not know, that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. In the poem this recording is in the public domain. The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by Carolyn Francis. The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine too dear for an earl, and the porous twig on the elm tree was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new roofed with carara came Chanticleer's muffled crow, the stiff rail softened to swans down, and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snowbirds like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently, as did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told of the good all father, who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall and thought of our leaden sky that arched o'er our first great sorrow when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from that cloud like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling the merciful father alone can make it fall. Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her, and she kissing back could not know that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The First Snowfall by J. R. Lowell. Red for LibriVox.org by Clarica. The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine too dear for an earl, and the poorest twig on the elm tree was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new roofed with carara came Chanticleer's muffled crow. The stiff rail softened to swans down, and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window the noiseless work of the sky and the sudden flurries of snowbirds like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet auburn where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently, as did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told of the good all-father, who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall and thought of the leaden sky that arched over our first great sorrow when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from that cloud like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding, the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling, the merciful father alone, can make it fall. Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her, and she, kissing back, could not know that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell Red for LibriVox.org by Esther The snow had begun in the gloaming and busily all the night, with the silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock were ear-mine too dear for an earl, and the poorest twig on the elm-tree was ridged inch deep with pearl. From Shed's new roofed with carerra came Chantalier's muffled crow, the stiff rail softened to swans down and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snow-birds, like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mount in sweet Auburn, where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently, as did Robin's, the babes in the wood. Up spoke our little Mabel, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told of the good all-father who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall and thought of the leaden sky that arched o'er our first great sorrow when that mount was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from the cloud like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling, the merciful father alone can make it fall. Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her, and she kissing back could not know that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. December 2007. The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white. Every pine and fur and hemlock were ermine too dear for an earl, and the porous twig on the elm tree was ridged inch deep with pearl. From shed's new roofed with carara came gently clear's muffled crow. The stiff rails softened to swans down, and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window, the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snowbirds, like brown leaves rolling by. I thought of a mount in sweet Auburn, where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently. As did Robbins, the babes in the wood. I've spoke our own little Mabel, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told her of the good old Father, who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall, and thought of the leaden sky, that arched o'er our first great sorrow, when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from that cloud like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding, the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that hushed all, darling, the merciful Father, alone can make it fall. Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her, and she, kissing back, could not know, that my kiss was given to her sister. Folded close under deepening snow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway, with a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock, or ermine too dear for an earl, and the porous twig on the elm tree was ridged inch deep with pearl. From shed's new roofed with carara came Chanticleer's muffled crow, the stiff rails softened to swans down and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window, the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snowbirds, like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet auburn, where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently, as did Robbins the babes in the wood. Upspoke our own little mable, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told of the good all-father, who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall, and thought of the leaden sky, that arched door our first great sorrow, when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from that cloud-like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling the merciful father, alone can make it fall. Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her, and she, kissing back, could not know that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deepened white. Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine, too dear for an earl, and the porous twig on the elm tree was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with carrera came Chanticleer's muffled crow, the stiff rails softened the swans down, and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snowbirds, like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound and sweet auburn where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently, as did robins, the babes, and the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told of the good all, Father, who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall and thought of the leaden sky that arched or our first great sorrow when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from that cloud-like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling, the merciful Father alone can make it fall. Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her, and she, kissing back, could not know that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hemlock wore ermine too dear for an earl, and the poorest twig on the elm-tree was ridged inch-deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with carerra came shanticleer's muffled crow. The stiff rails softened to swan-down, and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snow-birds, like brown leaves, whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Orburn, where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently, as did robins, the babes in the wood. Upspoke her own little mable, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told her of the good all-father, who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall, and thought of the leaden sky that arched o'er our first great sorrow, when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from that cloud like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling the merciful Father alone can make it fall. Then with eyes that saw not, I kissed her, and she, kissing back, could not know that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell, read for LibriVox.org by Sean McGahey, ducktapeguy.net. The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heeping field and highway, with a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine too dear for a knurl, and the porous twig on the elm tree was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new roofed with carara came Chanticleer's muffled crow, the stiff rail softened to swans down, and still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the windows the noiseless work of the sky, and the sudden flurries of snowbirds like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet auburn where a little headstone stood, how the flakes were folding it gently as did robins the babes in the wood. Upspoke our own little mabel, saying, Father, who makes it snow? And I told of the good old Father who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snowfall and thought of the leavened sky that arched oar our first great sorrow when that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience that fell from that cloud-like snow, flake by flake, healing and hiding, the scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, the snow that husheth all, darling the merciful Father, alone can make it fall. Then with eyes that saw not I kissed her, and she kissing back could not know that my kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. End of poem, this recording is in the public