Chapters 21
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1 Snow-Flakes - Read by ADD 1:14
Snowflakes, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloudfolds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest-fields forsaken, silent and soft and slow, descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed To wood and field.
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2 Snow-Flakes - Read by ARR 0:55
Org by Anna Roberts. Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloudfolds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest-fields forsaken, silent and soft and slow descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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3 Snow-Flakes - Read by CAL 1:09
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Read by Caliban.
Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloudfuls of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow, Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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4 Snow-Flakes - Read by CMC 1:19
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Read for LibriVox.org by Chris Caron.
Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud folds over garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow. Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take, suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white continent's confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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5 Snow-Flakes - Read by DII 1:09
Snowflakes Out of the bosom of the air Out of the cloud folds in her garments shaken Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest-fields forsaken Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow Even as our cloudy fences take, suddenly shape in some divine expression. Even as the troubled heart doth make, in the white countenance, confession. The troubled sky reveals, the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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6 Snow-Flakes - Read by DL 1:10
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloudfuls of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take sudden shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession. The troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood.
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7 Snow-Flakes - Read by DMW 0:55
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud-fords of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow, Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take, Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make, In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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8 Snow-Flakes - Read by EEP 1:21
Orc by Ernst Patinama. December, twenty second, two thousand and nine.
Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken, silent and soft and slow, Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the grief it feels. This is the poem of the air. Slowly, in silent syllables record it. This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, Now whispered and revealed To wood and field.
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9 Snow-Flakes - Read by EWL 0:58
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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10 Snow-Flakes - Read by EZWA 1:20
Org by is what in Belgium in December, two thousand and nine. Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken, silent and soft and slow. Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take, suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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11 Snow-Flakes - Read by JHL 1:08
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud-folds, over garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields, forsaken, Silent and soft and slow, Descends the snow, Even as our cloudy fancies take, Suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make. In the white continent's confession, the troubled sky reveals the grief it feels. This is a poem of the air, slowly, in silent syllables recorded. This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudly bosom hoarded, now whispered and revealed to Wood.
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12 Snow-Flakes - Read by JOC 1:17
Snowflakes, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloudfuls of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow, Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take, suddenly shape in some divine expression. Even as the troubled heart doth make, in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals, the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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13 Snow-Flakes - Read by LAH 1:11
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloudfolds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed. To wood and field.
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14 Snow-Flakes - Read by LLP 1:12
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloudfold of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take, suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make, in the white countenance, confession, The troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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15 Snow-Flakes - Read by MB 1:19
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloudfolds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow. Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take, Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make, In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals, The 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 revealed to wood and field.
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16 Snow-Flakes - Read by MFS 1:17
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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17 Snow-Flakes - Read by NI 1:00
Snowflakes Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take, Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make, In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals, The 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 revealed, To wood and field.
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18 Snow-Flakes - Read by RG 1:24
Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken, silent and soft and slow descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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19 Snow-Flakes - Read by RN 1:23
Snowflakes Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow, Snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take, suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.
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20 Snow-Flakes - Read by SJM 1:05
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Read for LibbyBox.org by Rose264. Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken, silent and soft and slow descends the snow, even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly Shape in some divine expression. Even as the troubled heart dove make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the grief it feels. This is the poem of the air, slowly and silent syllables recorded. This is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, now whispered and revealed to Wood-Enfield.
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21 Snow-Flakes - Read by SMM 1:10
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Read for LibriVox.org by Sean McGahee. DuckTapEguy.net. Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest fields forsaken, silent and soft and slow descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the 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 revealed to wood and field.