Snow Song

Over valley, over hill, 
Hark, the shepherd piping shrill! 
Driving all the white flocks forth 
From the far folds of the North.
   Blow, Wind, blow ; 
      Weird melodies you play, 
Following your flocks that go 
   Across the world to-day. 

How they hurry, how they crowd 
When they hear the music loud I 
Grove and lane and meadow full 
Sparkle with their shining wool. 
   Blow, Wind, blow 
      Until the forests ring: 
   Teach the eaves the tunes you know, 
      And make the chimney sing! 

Hither, thither, up and down 
Every highway of the town, 
Huddling close, the white flocks all 
Gather at the shepherd s call. 
   Blow, Wind, blow 
      Upon your pipes of joy;
   All your sheep the flakes of snow 
      And you their shepherd boy!

This poem is in the public domain.