Once I Was Pure

Once I Was Pure

The following poem we regard as one of the most touchingly beautiful in the language, and well worthy of attentive perusal by every reader:

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below!
Over the house-tops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you need.

Dancing,

Beautiful snow, it can do nothing wrong.
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in a frolicksome freak;
Beautiful snow from the heaven's above,
Pure as an angel, as gentle as love!

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go!
Whirling about in its maddening fun,
It plays in its glee with every one;

Chasing,

It lights up the face, and it sparkles the eye;
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.

Bow the wild crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song!
How the gay sledges, like meteres, flash by,
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye;

Ringing,

Over the crust of the beautiful snow—
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,
And trampld in mud by the crowd rushing by,
Trampled and tracked by thousands of feet,
Till it blends with filth in the horrible street.

Once I was pure as the snow—but I fell!
Fell, like the snow-flakes, from heaven to hell!
Fell to be trampled as filth of the street,
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on, and beat;

Pleading,

Selling my soul to whomever would buy;
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread,
Hating the living, and fearing the dead;
Merciful God! have I fallen so low?
Yet I was once like the beautiful snow!

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,
With eye like its crystal, heart like its glow;
Once I was loved for my innocent grace,
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face;

Father

God and myself, I have lost by my fall!
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by,
Takes a wide sweep, lest I wander too night;
For all that is on or above me I know,
There's nothing so pure as the beautiful snow.

How strange it should be that beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!
Strange it should be, when night comes again,
If snow and ice struck my desperate brain!

Fainting, 

Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan
To be heard in the crazy town,
Gone mad in the joy of snow coming down,
To lie and to die in my terrible woe,
With a bed and a shroud of beautiful snow!

1:21, p. 1

12.10.1859