Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/144

POEMS OF NEW ENGLAND Rock and forest and meadow,—landscape perfect and true!

O, if ourselves were tender and all unchangeful as you,

I should not now be dreaming of seven years that have been,

Nor bidding old love good-by forever, and letting the new love in!

COUNTRY SLEIGHING

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

January, when down the dairy

The cream and clabber freeze,

When snow-drifts cover the fences over,

We farmers take our ease.

At night we rig the team,

And bring the cutter out;

Then fill it, fill it, fill it, fill it,

And heap the furs about.

Here friends and cousins dash up by dozens,

And sleighs at least a score;

There John and Molly, behind, are jolly,—

Nell rides with me, before.

All down the village street

We range us in a row:

Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,

And over the crispy snow!

The windows glisten, the old folks listen

To hear the sleigh-bells pass;

The fields grow whiter, the stars are brighter,

The road is smooth as glass.

Our muffled faces burn,

The clear north-wind grows cold,

The girls all nestle, nestle, nestle,

Each in her lover's hold.

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