“The river was numb, and could not speak,
For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun;
A single crow on the tree-top bleak
From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun.”
Hosea Biglow seems to think he knows where to find
“Some blooms thet make the season suit the mind,
An’ seem to match the doubting bluebird’s notes,”
liverworts and bloodroots being among those talismanic plants. There is a world of serenity in the following metrical etching, which makes one almost long to die and be forever at rest:—
“Happy their end
Who vanish down life’s evening stream