[Footnote 15: _Collegisse juvat._ Horace in his first ode says, _Curriculo pulverem Olympicum Collegisse juvat_; that is: _It's a pleasure to have collected_ the dust of Olympus on your carriage-wheels. Mr. Lowell, helping himself to the words, says, "It's a pleasure to have been at college;" for college in its first meaning is a _collection_ of men, as in the phrase "The college of cardinals."] Nearer art thou than simply native earth, My dust with thine concedes a deeper tie; A closer claim thy soil may well put forth, Something of kindred more than sympathy; 270 For in thy bounds I reverently laid away That blinding anguish of forsaken clay, That title I seemed to have in earth and sea and sky, That portion of my life more choice to me (Though brief, yet in itself so round and whole)[16] 275 Than all the imperfect residue can be;-- The Artist saw his statue of the soul Was perfect; so, with one regretful stroke, The earthen model into fragments broke, 279 And without her the impoverished seasons roll. THE FIRST SNOW-FALL. The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock 5 Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch-deep with pearl. [Footnote 16: The volume containing this poem was reverently dedicated "To the ever fresh and happy memory of our little Blanche."] From sheds new-roofed with Carrara[17] Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, 10 The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, 15 Like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood; How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. 20 Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, 25 And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, 30 Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our deep-plunged woe.