Jonathan Swift

(30 November 1667 – 19 October 1745 / Dublin)

On Snow - Poem by Jonathan Swift

From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin,
No lady alive can show such a skin.
I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather,
But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together.
Though candour and truth in my aspect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to ensnare.
Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,
The foulest impressions I easily take.
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 12, 2010



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