And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.

THE BEAUTIFUL SNOW.

H, the snow, the beautiful snow! Filling the sky and earth below: Over the housetops, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet,

Dancing,

Flirting,

Skipping along,

Beautiful snow, it can do no wrong;

Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak,

Beautiful snow from the heavens above,
Pure as an angel, gentle as love!

Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow!

How the flakes gather and laugh as they go!
Whirling about in their maddening fun;
It plays in its glee with everyone,

Chasing,

Laughing,

Hurrying by,

It lights on the face and it sparkles the eye;
And playful dogs with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around ;

The town is alive, and its heart in a glow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.

IN

N the rosy light trills the gay swallow,
The thrush, in the roses below;

The meadow lark sings in the meadow,
But the snowbird sings in the snow.
Ah me!
Chickadee !

The snowbird sings in the snow!

The blue martin trills in the gable,
The wren, in the gourd below;
In the elm flutes the golden robin,
But the snowbird sings in the snow.
Ah me!

Chickadee !

The snowbird sings in the snow!

High wheels the gray wing of the osprey,
The wing of the sparrow drops low;

In the mist dips the wing of the robin,
And the snowbird's wing in the snow.
Ah me!

Chickadee !

The snowbird sings in the snow.

I love the high heart of the osprey,
The meek heart of the thrush below,
The heart of the lark in the meadow,
And the snowbird's heart in the snow.
But dearest to me,

Chickadee! Chickadee!

Is that true little heart in the snow.

THE rain-drops plash, and the dead leaves fall,

On spire and cornice and mold;

The swallows gather, and twitter and call,

"We must follow the summer, come one, come all, For the winter is now so cold."

Just listen awhile to the wordy war,
As to whither the way shall tend;
Says one,
"I know the skies are fair,
And myriad insects float in air,

Where the ruins of Athens stand.

"And every year when the brown leaves fall,
In a niche of the Parthenon

I build my nest on the corniced wall,
In the trough of a devastating ball
From the Turk's besieging gun."

Says another, "My cozy home I fit
On a Smyrna grande café,

Where on the threshold Hadjii sit,

And smoke their pipes and their coffee sip,
Dreaming the hours away."

There my little ones lie when the palm-trees wave,

And, perching near on the architrave,

I fill each open beak."

"Ah!" says the last, "I build my nest

Far up on the Nile's green shore,
Where Memnon raises his stony crest,
And turns to the sun as he leaves his rest,
But greets him with song no more.

"In his ample neck is a niche so wide,
And withal so deep and free,

A thousand swallows their nests can hide,
And a thousand little ones rear beside,
Then come to the Nile with me."

They go, they go, to the river and plain,
To ruined city and town;

They leave me alone with the cold again,
Beside the tomb, where my joys are lain
With hope like the swallows flown.

- Translated from Théophile Gautier.

I

WINTER BIRDS.

WATCH them from the window,
While winds so keenly blow;
How merrily they twitter,
And revel in the snow;
In brown and ruffled feathers
They dot the white around,
And not one moping comrade
Among the lot I've found.
Ah, may I be as cheerful
As yonder winter birds,
Through ills and petty crosses,
With no repining words;
So, teaching me this lesson,
Away, away they go,

And leave their tiny footprints

In stars upon the snow.