White are the far-off fields
And white the fading forest grow;
The wind dies out along the height
Denser still the snow,
A gathering weight on roof and tree
Falls down scarce audibly.

The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snow-fall hoods me around;
In wood and water, earth and air,
Silence is everywhere.

Save when lonely spells,
Some farmer's sleigh, urged on,
With rustling runner some sharp bells,
Swings by me and is gone;
From the empty space I hear
A sound remote and clear.

The barking of a dog
To cattle, sharply peaked,
Borne, echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent and the snow
Falls settling soft and slow.

The evening deepens and the grey
Folds closer earth and sky
The world seems so shrouded so far away.
It's noises sleep, and I
As secret as yon buried stream
Plod dumbly on and dream.

I dream, I dream. [x3]

I dream, only dream.