They taught them how to spread their little wings,

And 'mong the garden trees to soar away.

Lullaby, lullaby?

SNOW.

The snow, the snow is coming,

So graceful and light,

All over every thing,

Beautiful and white.

A thousand, thousand snow-flakes,

They're swimming in the air;

They fall upon the cherry-trees,

And hang like blossoms there.

They are coming, coming, coming,

As far as I can see;

They 'light, like little fairy birds,

Upon the old oak tree.

Each flake of snow is pretty—

A spangle or a gem;

But they melt away in dew-drops—

I can not treasure them.

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