A Riddle on Snow

From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin. 
No lady alive can show such a skin. 
I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather,      
But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together. 
Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear,      
Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare. 
Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,      
The foulest impressions I easily take. 
My parent and I produce one another,      
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother.

Note:

Today’s poem is a winter riddle from James Parton.
The answer is snow.