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Message: <blockquote data-quote="rapa" data-source="post: 1052184" data-attributes="member: 212">Out of the bosom of the airOut of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,Over the woodlands brown and bare,Over the harvest-fields  forsaken,Silent, and soft, and slowDescends the snow.Even as our cloudy fancies takeSuddenly shape in some divine expression,Even as the troubled heart doth makeIn the white countenance confessionThe troubled sky revealsThe grief it feels.This is the poem of the air,Slowly in silent syllables recorded;This is the secret of despair,Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,Now whispered and revealedTo wood and field.</blockquote>

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