River Snow

The flakes are a little thinner where I look,

For I can see a circle of grey shore,

And greyer water, motionless beyond.

But the other shore is gone, and right and left

Earth and sky desert me. Still I stand

And look at the dark circle that is there—

As if I were a man blinded with whiteness,

And one grey spot remained. The flakes descend,

Softly, without a sound that I can tell—

When out of the further white a gull appears,

Crosses the hollow place, and goes again…

There was no flap of wing; no feather fell.

But now I hear him crying, far away,

And think he may be wanting to return…

The flakes descend… And shall I see the bird?

Not one path is open through the snow.