|Lines by Clement C. Moore, first published anonymously in the|
Troy Sentinel - Friday, February 20, 1824
Come dearest children [1844: children dear, and] look around;
And see [1844: Behold] how soft and light
The silent snow has clad the ground, [1844: end comma deleted]
In robes of purest white.
The trees are [1844: seem] deck'd by fairy hands [1844: hand],
Nor need their native green;
And every breeze now seems [1844: appears] to stand,
All hush'd, to view the scene.
You wonder how these [1844: the] snows were made
That dance upon the air; [1844: end comma]
As if from purer worlds they stray'd,
So lovely [1844: lightly] and so fair.
Perhaps they are the summer flowers, [1844: end comma deleted]
In northern stars that bloom; [1844: end comma]
Wafted away from ivy bowers [1844: icy bowers], [1844: end comma deleted]
To cheer our winter's gloom.
Perhaps they are [1844: they're] feathers of a race
Of birds, [1844: comma deleted] that live away,
In some cold wintry place, [1844: cold dreary wintry place,]
Far from the sun's warm ray.
And clouds perhaps are downy beds, [1844: And clouds, perhaps, are downy beds]
On which the winds repose;
Who, when they move [1844: rouse] their slumbering heads [1844: slumb'ring heads],
Shake down the feathery [1844: feath'ry] snows.
But see, my dearlings [1844: darlings], while we stay
And gaze with such [1844: fond] delight,
The fairy scene now [1844: soon] fades away,
And mocks our raptur'd sight.
And let this fleeting vision teach
A truth you soon must know —
That all the joys we here can reach, [1844: end comma deleted]
Are transient as the snow.