Claude McKay speaks to someone leaving a tropical home for the North. At first, he says, the snow will seem magical—like white moths in warm air or water falling down a shining stair. But that first delight fades. Once the streets and fields are blanketed white and the cold wind feels raw, or a thaw turns the frozen ground to slush, the newcomer will start to miss home. The speaker knows this feeling from experience. In the final lines, that longing becomes vivid: birdsong in a warm place means flowering lanes, dry open spaces, and a bright blue sky full of silver light. The mood is bittersweet—winter is pretty, but it cannot replace the warmth and tenderness of home.
To One Coming North — Summary
At first you’ll joy to see the playful snow, Like white moths trembling on the tropic air, Or waters of the hills that softly flow Gracefully falling down a shining stair. And when the fields and streets are covered white And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw, Or underneath a spell of heat and light The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw, Like me you’ll long for home, where birds’ glad song Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry, And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong, Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.