Snow

'Who affirms that crystals are alive?' I affirm it, let who will deny: Crystals are engendered, wax and thrive, Wane and wither; I have seen them die. Trust me, masters, crystals have their day, Eager to attain the perfect norm, Lit with purpose, potent to display Facet, angle, colour, beauty, form. Water-crystals need for flower and root Sixty clear degrees, no less, no more; Snow, so fickle, still in this acute Angle thinks, and learns no other lore: Such its life, and such its pleasure is, Such its art and traffic, such its gain, Evermore in new conjunctions this Admirable angle to maintain. Crystalcraft in every flower and flake Snow exhibits, of the welkin free: Crystalline are crystals for the sake, All and singular, of crystalry. Yet does every crystal of the snow Individualize, a seedling sown Broadcast, but instinct with power to grow Beautiful in beauty of its own. Every flake with all its prongs and dints Burns ecstatic as a new-lit star: Men are not more diverse, finger prints More dissimilar than snow-flakes are. Worlds of men and snow endure, increase, Woven of power and passion to defy Time and travail: only races cease, Individual men and crystals die.