THE FIRST SNOW-STORM.
Oh, what shall we do? cried a sad little bird—
Oh, what shall we do? cried she;
For the fields lie white in the morning light,
And there's never a leaf on a tree—
Tree, tree, tree—
And there's never a leaf on a tree.
Oh, let us be off to the fair sunny South—
Oh, let us be off, said he;
For they tell me down there they've enough and to spare
For my dear little wifey and me—
Me, me, me—
For my dear little wifey and me.
Fig. 1.
Fig. 2.