More Emily Dickinson

I didn't think we would ever get a real snow this winter, but today I finally woke up to see the world covered in white. So I am celebrating with yet another Emily Dickinson poem. She may be my favorite poet of winter!

It sifts from Leaden Sieves--
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road--
It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain and of Plain--
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again--
It reaches to the Fence--
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces--
It deals Celestial Veil
To Stump and Stack--and Stem--
A Summer's empty Room--
Acres of Joints where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them--
It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen--
Then stills its Artisans--like Ghosts,
Denying they have been--

-- Emily Dickinson