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Snow pursued by the wind is not wholly unlike a retreating army. In the open field it ranges itself in ranks and battalions; where it can get a foothold it makes a stand; where it can take cover it does so. You may see whole platoons of snow cowering behind a bit of broken wall.
AMBROSE BIERCE, "The Night-Doings at Deadman's"
- But pleasures are like poppies spread--
- You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
- Or like the snow falls in the river--
- A moment white -- then melts for ever.
ROBERT BURNS, Tam o' Shanter
The snow did not even whisper its way to earth, but seemed to salt the night with silence.
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