The Snow Storm
By Edna St. Vincent
Millay
No
hawk hangs over in this air:
The urgent snow is everywhere.
The wing
adroiter than a sail
Must lean away from such a gale,
Abandoning its
straight intent,
Or else expose tough ligament
And tender flesh to what
before
Meant dampened feathers, nothing more.
Forceless upon our backs
there fall
Infrequent flakes hexagonal,
Devised in many a curious
style
To charm our safety for a while,
Where close to earth like mice we
go
Under the horizontal snow.
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