DECEMBER 



15 



When some rare northern bird, like the pine 

 grosbeak, is seen thus far south, in the winter, 

 he does not suggest poverty, but dazzles us with 

 his beauty. There is in them a warmth that is 

 akin to the warmth that melts the icicle. Here is 

 no imperfection suggested. The winter with its 

 snow and ice is not an evil to be corrected. It is 

 as it was designed and made to be, for the artist 

 has had leisure to add beauty to use. 



THOREAU: Autumn. 



The sun . . . was melting the ice on the rocks, 

 and the water was purling downwards in dark 

 bubbles exactly like pollywogs. 



THOREAU: Winter. 



16 



On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, 

 Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap ; 

 The wind that through the pine-trees sung 

 The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung ; 

 While, through the window, frosty-starred, 

 Against the sunset purple barred, 

 We saw the sombre crow flap by, 

 The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, 

 The crested blue-jay flitting swift, 

 The squirrel poising on the drift, 

 Erect, alert, his broad gray tail 

 Set to the north wind like a sail. 



WHITTIER: Red Riding-Hood. 



