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POEMS.
With trailing garments through the air they came,Or walked the ground with girded loins, and threwSpangles of silvery frost upon the grass,And edged the brook with glistening parapets,And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool,And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence,They shook, from their full laps, the soft, light snow,And buried the great earth, as autumn, windsBury the forest floor in heaps of leaves. A beautiful race were they, with baby brows,And fair, bright locks, and voices like the soundOf steps on the crisp snow, in which they talkedWith man, as friend with friend. A merry sightIt was, when, crowding round the traveller,They smote him with their heaviest snow flakes, flung
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