A changing multitude.

Nearer and nearer still they sway,

And, scattering in a circled sweep,

Rush down without a sound;

And now I see them peer and peep,

Across yon level bleak and gray,

Searching the frozen ground,—

Until a little wind upheaves,

And makes a sudden rustling there,

And then they drop their play,

Flash up into the sunless air,

And like a flight of silver leaves

Swirl round and sweep away.

[45]

SNOW

White are the far-off plains, and white

The fading forests grow;

The wind dies out along the height,

And denser still the snow,

A gathering weight on roof and tree,

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