Two tiny, snowy eggs were laid.
But when October's ripened fruit
Had bent the very tree-tops down,
And dainty flowers faded, drooped,
And stately forests lost their crown,
Their brood was hatched and reared and flown—
The mossy nest was left alone.
And now the hills are cold and white,
'T is sever'd from its native bough;
We gaze upon it with delight;