BIRDS AND NftTURE. 



ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY. 



Vol. XIII. FEBRUARY, 1903. No. 2 



WINTER WALKS. 



Still there was beauty in my walks ; the brook, 



Bordered with sparkling frost-work, was as gay 



As with its fringe of summer flowers. Afar, 



The village with its spires, the path of streams 



And dim receding valleys, hid before 



By interposing trees, lay visible 



Through the bare, grove, and my familiar haunts 



Seemed new to me. Nor was I slow to come 



Among fnem, when the clouds, from their still skirts. 



Had shaken down on earth the feathery snow. 



And all was white. The pure keen air abroad. 



Albeit it breathed no scent of herb, nor heard 



Love-call of bird nor merry hum of bee, 



Was not the air of death. Bright mosses crept 



Over the spotted trunks, and the close buds. 



That lay along the boughs, instinct with life, 



Patient, and waiting the soft breath of Spring, 



Feared not the piercing spirit of the North. 



The snow-bird twittered on the beechen bough. 



And 'neath the hemlock, whose thick branches bent 



Beneath its bright cold burden, and kept dry 



A circle, on the earth, of withered leaves, 



The partridge' found a shelter. Through the snow 



The rabbit sprang away. The lighter track 



Of fox, and the raccoon's broad path, Avere there, 



Crossing each other. From his hollow tree 



The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts 



Just fallen, that asked the winter cold and sway 



Of winter blast, to shake them from their hold. 



William Cullen Bryant, "A Winter Piece. 



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