XLIV 



DECEMBER DAYS 



Fewer and more chill have become 

 the hours of sunlight, and longer stretch 

 the noontide shadows of the desolate 

 trees athwart the tawny fields and the 

 dead leaves that mat the floor of the 

 woods. 



The brook braids its shrunken strands 

 of brown water with a hushed murmur 

 over a bed of sodden leaves between 

 borders of spiny ice crystals, or in the 

 pools swirl in slow circles the imprisoned 

 fleets of bubbles beneath a steadfast roof 

 of glass. Dark and sullen the river 

 sulks its cheerless way, enlivened but by 

 the sheldrake that still courses his prey 

 in the icy water, and the mink that like 

 a fleet black shadow steals along the 

 silent banks. Gaudy wood duck and 

 swift-winged teal have long since de- 

 parted and left stream and shore to these 

 marauders and to the trapper, who now 

 gathers here his latest harvest. 



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