Through music of the sleigh-bells: something
true,
Such as their young grandmothers, shy and saintly,
Heard under stars of winter—told anew!
The little children, one and all, are crying
For just a few more fairies—but, you know
They go to sleep when golden-rod is dying,
And do not wake till there is no more snow.
They sleep who kept your Jersey cow from straying,
My boy, while you were deep in books and