A WINTER MOOD 



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of food and shelter for birds surround 

 a dwelling whose deep porches are 

 hung with evergreen honeysuckle, with 

 a garden arbour or two, and a copse of 

 pine, fir, and hemlocks, or hedges of 

 arbor-vitae, the true life trees. When 

 snow and frost bury all other sources of 

 food, then do not forget to scatter a 

 handful of buckwheat, oats, or crumbs 

 to the pensioners. How inexpressibly 

 dear are these lodgers that we shelter; 

 they keep the eye keen and the heart 

 warm in the waiting. The titmice are 

 fearless, and come within hand-reach 

 as they pry in and out or play hide- 

 and-seek about the knot holes with the 

 pine finch and nuthatch; they are very 

 sociable and court rather than reject 

 human society. 



Come out, then, under the sky. 

 The north wind has made rifts in the 

 clouds and the sun comes and goes at 



