eCatalogue 
—GracE NoLtLt CROWELL 
THE snow swirls at the window sills, 
The drifts are high, 
The pale-gold winter sunlight spills 
From a cold sky; 
But in my hands I hold a small 
And lovely thing: 
A nursery catalogue, with all 
The light of spring 
And summer init.... 
SWIRL at my window, snow, and see 
If you can prison me! 
