Winter Streams

Now the little rivers go

Muffled safely under snow,

And the winding meadow streams

Murmur in their wintry dreams,

While a tinkling music wells

Faintly from there icy bells,

Telling how their hearts are bold

Though the very sun be cold.

Ah, but wait until the rain

Comes a-sighing once again,

Sweeping softly from the Sound

Over ridge and meadow ground!

Then the little streams will hear

April calling far and near,—

Slip their snowy bands and run

Sparkling in the welcome sun.