A WINTER MOOD 233 



manner, as if to say, " I must bark for 

 my living, but you know that I am 

 really quite glad to see you." 



This is home, the hand-mark of 

 man close on the edge of the woods. 

 At night, a light from the window will 

 traverse the darkness, breaking and 

 dispersing it, as the eye of the Maker 

 beamed through the void. With the 

 dwelling we find the birds again. The 

 snowflake, whose soft coat is white, 

 with the brown leaf stains of autumn; 

 the Canada nuthatch walks, head down, 

 round a plane tree, and a winter-wren 

 peeps out from the woodpile. For a 

 little while the sun again overcomes 

 the clouds, and you can hear the soft 

 drip of the snow thawing on the fences, 

 and the "day, day, day," of the tit- 

 mouse makes music. One more turn 

 and we gain the hill-top; we are above 

 the world and surrounded by pic- 



