"Under the Snow" by Josephine Eaton Cragin

I thought about waiting until winter to run this, but decided to keep the Josephine information consistent. Here's a poem that appeared in the June Godley Cragin book.

"Under the Snow"

Over the snow fields, piled so high,
Spring-like cloudlets are drifting by;
Under the snow-fields far below,
Where the elves and the fairies come and go,
Wonderful things are being planned
None but the fairies can understand,
Far down below
Under the snow.

Slumbering, slumbering, under the snow,
tiny grass-roots are lying low
How can they tell so wrapped in death,
It is almost time for the south wind's breath?
How do they know, in the brown earth deep,
When to wake from their wintry sleep?
How do they know,
Under the snow?

Silvery, musical, mountain rill,
Once so restless, but now so still,
Bound by the ruthless Ice-kings chains,
Longing, waiting for April rains;
Crystal brook! It will wake ere long --
Wake to the thrill of the bluebird's song,
Murmuring low
Under the snow.

Hasten, sunshine, and balmiest breeze
Pity the plaint of the leafless trees;
Quicken the mystical life below,
Till leaf buds burst and maples glow,
And the willows don their drab and gray,
Mute little Quakers in sober array,
Oh, the life below,
Under the snow.

* * *
I actually liked this better once I typed this out. She's reliant on that Longfellowesque rhythm that was so popular and keeps the pace clip-clopping along. In her day, a good blizzard would definitely isolate people so her fancies (from fairies to grass roots) are definitely romantic. The poetry of James Whitcomb Riley (who lived in Westminster, the adjoining community to where she lived in Fitchburg) also had a seasonal bias.

Now I wonder if she was personally acquainted with Caroline Mason Atherton, the best known poet of Fitchburg? I know from reading back (I mean, wa-a-ay back issues of the Sentinel -- like 1864-1900 about 10 years ago) that locally-produced poetry was always part of tha publication, but was there some gathering place or occasion that the folks who wrote verse got together? I think of Emily Dickinson, hovering in her room. Though well-to-do, there was plenty of housework that fell on her shoulders and I always thought that some of the quickness of her verse had everything to do with stolen moments and frequent interruptions.