The bleak, inclement season of the year.
The sparrows chirped and pecked while eyeing me
With little diamond glances, like old friends,
As round my feet they fluttered, hopped and fed,
In perfect confidence and void of fear.
Their forms, their notes, their pretty ways so strange,
Yet so familiar—like a rustic word
Learned in my childhood and not spoken since—
All, all came back to me! and as I looked
And listened—a thousand memories rose up,