Winter Streams

Now the little rivers go Muffled safely under snow,

And the winding meadow streams Murmur in their wintry dreams,

While a tinkling music wells Faintly from there icy bells,

Telling how their hearts are bold Though the very sun be cold.

Ah, but wait until the rain Comes a-sighing once again,

Sweeping softly from the Sound Over ridge and meadow ground!

Then the little streams will hear April calling far and near,—

Slip their snowy bands and run Sparkling in the welcome sun.