A Winter Piece.

—Tom Taylor.

FROST in the air, till every spray,
Stands diamond-set with rime,
That drops awhile at mid of day,
With tiny tinkling chime.
Beside the ice the ducks a-dose,
Dream of the pools to be;
The sheep for warmth lie huddled close,
Upon the naked lea.

The grey sky’s flecked with wan white gleams,
And wan and white below,
On laden trees, and locked up streams,
And roof and road, the snow.
All silent shrinks the feathered throng
That cheered spring, wood, and wold;
Only the robin pipes his song,
The cheerier for the cold.

Dear household bird, whose gladsome strain,
Beside the window-sill,
Sounds like reproof of hearts too fain
To freeze in winter’s chill!
It sings, “This bare bough once was green,
And green again will be;
Where winter is, I’ve summer seen,
And summer yet shall see.”

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