No hawk hangs over in this air:
The urgent snow is everywhere.
The wing adroiter than a sail
Must lean away from such a gale,
Abandoning its straight intent,
Or else expose tough ligament
And tender flesh to what before
Meant dampened feathers, nothing more.
Forceless upon our backs there fall
Infrequent flakes hexagonal,
Devised in many a curious style
To charm our safety for a while,
While close to earth like mice we go
Under the horizontal snow.
*
I love the last lines, if people are like mice, then the hawk, if not impaired by the storm might swoop down on them! The vulnerability of people in storms is like mice in the open being hunted by hawks. I also love the rhyme of the poem, the rhythm of the opening lines.