The snow that never drifts
the transient, fragrant snow
That comes single time a Year
is softly drifting now--
So thorough in the Tree
At night beneath the star
That it was February's Foot
Experience would swear
Like Winter has a face
We stern and former knew
Repaired all but Loneliness
By Nature's Alibit
Where every storm so spice
That value could not be--
We buy with contrast-- Pang is good
As near as memory--
By Emily Dickinson
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