A lonely fir-tree is standing On a northern barren height; It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift Cast round it a garment of white.
Darlings of the forest! Blossoming alone When Earth's grief is sorest For her jewels gone Ere the last snow-drift melts your tender buds have blown.Rose T. Cooke, Trailing Arbutus; reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 39.
Know yourself as a snowdrift on the sand Heaped for two days, or three, then thawed and gone.c.1100 Ruba iya t, stanza16 (translated by Robert Graves and Omar Ali-Shah,1972).
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