document.write("Out of the bosom of the Air,<br />    Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,<br />Over the woodlands brown and bare,<br />   Over the harvest-fields forsaken,<br />      Silent, and soft, and slow<br />      Descends the snow.<br /><br />Even as our cloudy fancies take<br />    Suddenly shape in some divine expression,<br />Even as the troubled heart doth make<br />    In the white countenance confession,<br />      The troubled sky reveals<br />      The grief it feels.<br /><br />This is the poem of the air,<br />    Slowly in silent syllables recorded;<br />This is the secret of despair,<br />    Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,<br />      Now whispered and revealed<br />      To wood and field.");