Slow snowflakes, idly sifted over bridges
Can't cover lead-gray river running still
Rare works of art, brittle stars of airy frill
Melt silently on waves or heap on icy ridges.

The wind holds each and tosses at its will;
Each flake alone, in snowstorm wall unseen
Flies, falls, and vanishes -- as well as never been
For ever more burst down from toiling mill.

This twilight snowstorm time to think what wakes
Frail, fleeting beauty seen in people, clouds, and flakes.