Fairy snow, fairy snow, Blowing, blowing everywhere, Would that I Too, could fly Lightly, lightly through the air. Like a wee, crystal star I should drift, I should blow Near, more near, To my dear Where he comes through the snow. I should fly to my love Like a flake in the storm, I should die, I should die, On his lips that are warm.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Song At Capri