34 ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



Merry chime of sleigh-bells, 



Tinkling through the snow; 

 Mother knitting stockings, 



(Pussy has the ball !) 

 Don't you think that Winter's 



Pleasanter than all ? 



THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. 



TALKING IN THEIR SLEEP. 



Y' 



'OU think I am dead," 

 The apple-tree said, 

 " Because I have never a leaf to show 

 Because I stoop, 

 And my branches droop, 

 And the dull gray mosses over me grow ! 

 But I'm all alive in trunk and shoot ; 

 The buds of next May 

 I fold away 

 But I p;ty the withered grass at my root." 



" You think I am dead," 



The quick grass said, 

 " Because I have started with stem and blade ! 



But under the ground 



I am safe and sound 



With the snow's thick blanket over me laid. 

 I'm all alive, and ready to shoot, 



Should the spring of the year 



Come dancing here 

 But I pity the flower without branch or root." 



" You think I am dead, " 



A soft voice said, 



" Because not a branch or root I own ! 

 I never have died, 

 But close I hide, 



In a plumy seed that the wind has sown, 

 Patient I wait through the long winter hours ; 

 You will see me again 

 I shall laugh at you then, 

 Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers." 



EDITH M. THOMAS, in /. Nicholas. 



" All the trees have torches lit." 



LUCY LARCOM'S "Indian Summer." 



