Forgetting that they lie
Deep in the mould till winter has gone by.
—DINAH MARIA MULOCH CRAIK.
Blighting and blowing—blighting and blowing—
And the stones of the rivulet silent lie,
And the winds in the fading woodlands cry,
And the birds in the clouds are going;
And the dandelion hides his gold,
And their little blue tents the violets fold,
And the air is gray with snowing: