Song of the Day
Quote of the Day
Poem of the Day
Snow-Flakes 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. |
Picture of the Day
63rd Street, Englewood Chicago.
Book of the Day
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