The Pleasantville press. (Pleasantville, N.J.) 1912-1929, 1923-10-27
BEAUTIFUL SNOW.

This poem, which has been pro-
nounced one of the finest ever writ
ten, has a sad history. During the
early part of the Civil War, one dark
Saturday night in midwinter, there
died in the Commercial Hospital in
Cincinnati a young woman, oyer whose
head only two and twenty summers
had passed. She had once been pos
sessed of an enviable share of beauty
and had been, as she herself says,
"hattered and sought for the charm Of
face; but alas, upon her fair brow
was written that terrible word, pros
titute." Once the pride of respectable
parents, her first wrong step "a the
small beginning of the same old story
over again." which has been only the
life history of thousands. Highly edu-
Gated, and with accomplished manners,
she might have. shone in the best soci-
ETY.; but the evil hour that proved her
ruin was the door of childhood, and
having spent a young life OF disgrace
and shame, the poor, friendless one
died the melancholy death of a broken
hearted outcast.
Among her personal effects was
found in manuscript, 1.-THE Beautiful
Snow which was Immediately carried
to Enos 3. Reed, a gentleman of cul-
ture and literary tastes, who was at
that time editor of the National I'm
ion. In the columns OF that paper, on
the morning of the day following the
girls death, the poem appeared in
print for the first time. When the
paper containing the poem came out
on GY1ndoy u1nrpinU tho hn6u of tho
victim had not received burial. The
attention Of Thomas Buchanan Read.
one of the first American poets, was
so taken with its stirring pathos that
he Immediately followed the corpse to
its final resting-place. Such are the
plain facts concerning her, whose
Beautiful Snow shall long be remem-
bered as one of the brightest gems in
American literature.
o the snow. the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and the earth below,
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet.
Dancing, flirting, skipping along,
Beautiful snow, it can do no wrong.
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak,
Pure as an angel and gentle as love,
o., the snow. the beautiful snow,
How the flakes gather and laugh as they
goi
Whirling about in their m%addening fun,
1t plays in its glee with everyone.
Chasing, laughing. hurrying by,
1t lights on the face and it sparkles the
And playful logs with a bark and a
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town is alive, and its heart is aglow,
To welcome the coming of he beautiful
snow.
How wildly the crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song!
How the gay sleds like meteors flash by,
Bright for the moment, then lost to the
eye!
Ringing. swinging, dashing they go,
over the crust of the beautiful snow;
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky
As to make one regret to see it lie,
To be trampled and tracked by the thou
sand feet,
Til it blends with the filth in the horri-
BILE street.
Once I was pure as the snow; but I fell
Fell like the snow1akes, from heaven to
Fell to be tramped as filth in the street;
Fell to be scoffed: TO be spit on and beat;
Pleading. %cursing, dreading to die;
Selling my soul to whoever would buy.
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread;
Hating the living, and fearing the dead.
Merciful Cod have l fallen so low?
And yet l was once like the beautiful
snow.
Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,
With an eye like a crystals; a heart like
its glow.
Once l was loved for my innocent grace.
Flattered and sought for the charm of the
face.
Father, mother. sister, all,
God and myself l have lost by my fall.
The vefiest wretch hat goes shivering by
VIII make a wide sweep lest | wander
too nigh.
r. - 49, .
There's nothing as pure as the beautiful
How strange it should be that this beau
tiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere tc
How strange it would be ere the night
comes again,
If the snow and ice struck my desperate
brain:
Painting. freezing. dying alone,
Too wicked for prayer. too weak for a
To be heard in the streets of the crazy
town:
Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming
down.
To be and to die in my terrible woe,
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful
snow.
Helpless and foul as the trampled snow,
Sinner, despair not, Christ stoopeth low
To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin,
To raise it to life and enjoyment again.
Grooming, bleeding, dying for thee,
The Crucihed hung on the accused tree
His accents of mercy fell soft on him
ear;
Is there mercy for me-? Will He heed my
prayer?
o Cod in the stream that for sinners die
flow,
Wash me and I shall be whittier thar
snow.
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