BIRDS MD NftTURE. 



ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY. 



THE SNOW 



In the dark the snow is sifting, in a white shower swiftly drifting, 

 Like the seed the sower scatters from his rough and horny hand ; 



See it heaving into waves, swelling into shapeless graves. 



Rippling into curves and frettings, like the ocean's silver sand. 



How it hangs upon the eaves, how it dots upon the leaves. 



Crystal round the ruby berries and the green and glossy leaf. 



Clinging to the netted boughs, massing on a sloping house, 



Filling all the mind and feelings with a blank, unreasoning grief. 



Heavy swathes upon the brier, rising every moment higher. 

 Sloping in a massy buttress up against the old church wall. 



Hollowed into roadside caves by the night-wind's gnawing waves, 

 Turning every roof to silver — ^hut and palace, farm and hall. 



See the wild bird on the thorn, waiting for the peep of dawn, 

 Guarding yonder ruby berry, like a magic talisman. 



Fluttered frightened at the snow rustling through the break below, 

 As the hare flew, scared and startled, from the coming steps of man. 



As I look into the night, over hill and plain of white. 



Comes a watchful angel's voice, clear yet softly through the dark, 



As the wind grows louder, higher, spreading like a prairie fire. 



And the elm shakes like the mainmast of a tempest-tossing bark. 



"Soon the south wind shall blow soft, breathing over glade and croft, 

 Soon the blue will slowly widen, and the air with music ring ; 



And from out this snowy tomb, like a soul unto its doom. 



Shall the Spring leap up in gladness, and to God his praises sing. 



— Walter Thornbury, "Snow Crystals." 



