Chapter XIX

Come even to our threshold, scattering your
white ash, O peaceful, slowly falling snow: the
lime-tree in the garden holds all its branches
bowed, and the light calandra dissolves in the
sky no longer.

O snow, who warm and protect the barely rising
corn with the moss and wool that you spread from
plain to plain! Silent snow, the gentle friend of
the houses asleep in the calm of morning:

Cover our roof and lightly touch our windows, and
suddenly enter by the door over the threshold
with your pure flakes and your dancing flames,

O snow, luminous through our soul, snow, who also
warm our last dreams like the rising corn!