Page:Poems of nature, Thoreau, 1895.djvu/110

 STANZAS WRITTEN AT WALDEN

Winter fringes every bough

With his fantastic wreath,

And puts the seal of silence now

Upon the leaves beneath;

When every stream in its pent-house

Goes gurgling on its way,

And in his gallery the mouse

Nibbleth the meadow hay;

Methinks the summer still is nigh,

And lurketh underneath,

As that same meadow-mouse doth lie

Snug in that last year's heath.

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