Farewell Snow.

(After Walt Whitman.)


That light, that white, that weird, uncanny substance we call snow
    Is slowly sifting through the bare branches--and ever and anon
My thoughts sift with the drifting snow, and I am full of pale regret.
    Yes, full of pale regret and other things--you know what I mean.
And why? Because the snow must go; the time has came to part.
    Yes, it cannot wait much longer--like the flakes my thoughts are melting
'Tis here, 'tis there, in fact, 'tis everywhere--the snow I mean.
    Like the thick syrup which covers buckwheat cakes it lies.

The man who says he don't regret its passing also lies.
    And wilt thou never come again? Yes, thou ilt never come again. Alas!
How well I remember thee! 'Twas but yesterday, methinks.
    When a great daub of snow fell from a nearby housetop
And when I ventured--poor foolish mortal that I was--to look,
    Caught me fairly in the mouth (an awful swat) and nearly smothered me.
There is another little trick of thine, most lovely snow--
    It is but a proof of thine affection to cling around our necks,
But still we swear--we cannot help it, Snow.
    Now it is "Skidoo," or "23 for you." Oh, cursed inconstancy of man!

Edwin C. Ranck

Edwin C. Ranck was an American lyricist noted for his work in the early 20th century. He was a prolific writer and his lyrics were often characterized by their humor and wit. One of his standout works is the poem 'The Optimist', which reflects his positive outlook on life. Beyond that, little is known about his personal life or career. He remains a somewhat obscure figure in literary history.

Edwin C. Ranck

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A late and lonely figure stains the snow,
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Heavily homeward now the last rooks go,
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Sounds, then's still and whimpers again.

Yet 'twas a morn of oh, such air and light!
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And now night's fall'n, the west wind begins to creep
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Oh the snow, - the bright fleecy snow!
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How the gay laugh ripples through the clear air,
How bloom the roses on cheeks of the fair!
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Oh, the snow,-the pitiless snow!
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Always the same, when on a fated night
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More than if life had never been begun.

Yet all the precedent is on my side:
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Now the long-bearded chilly-fingered winter
Over the green fields sweeps his cloak and leaves
Its whiteness there. It caught on the wild trees,
Shook whiteness on the hedges and left bare
South-sloping corners and south-fronting smooth
Barks of tall beeches swaying 'neath their whiteness
So gently that the whiteness does not fall.
The ash copse shows all white between gray poles,
The oaks spread arms to catch the wandering snow.
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The April Snow-Storm - 1858.

Spread lightly, virgin shower,
Your winding-sheet of snow;
Winter has lost his power,
But mock not at his woe.

Fall not so cold and bleak,
Nor blow the breath of scorn;
Gently.    Thy sire is weak;
And thou, his latest-born.

Frail type of life thou art:
At first, pure as the snow
We come - abide - depart;
What more, th' Immortals know.

Fall gently, virgin shower,
Though wild the west wind raves;
Watch through this midnight hour
Above the new-made graves!

            -    -    -

Spread gently, virgin shower,
Your winding sheet of snow;
My heart has lost its power,
But mock not at its woe.

Fall not so cold and bleak,
Treat not her corse with scorn;
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Another hero of those youthful years
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And he was awkward, fat and overgrown,
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The trimmest bows and arrows - fashioned, too.
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...

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