He’s here if my breath is cold.
There’s darker spots close by redbird’s flash;
They look like shadows compared to him.
Now they dip in the brook where its waters plash
O’er the willow’s roots with a rippling clash,
And drink from my ice cups so thin.
I think they are snowbirds. Hello, little mutes!
Just answer me now till I’m sure it is you.
You look with your rusty brownish suits,
As you flirt and dance o’er the frozen roots,