I trudged along through a field of stubble
So still, I heard the laughing bubble
Of a little brook, where opalescent
Milky ice made an evanescent
Tinkling sound, like a shining splinter
Struck from the glittering shield of Winter;
And the flight of a partridge, startled, whirring,
Came from the weedy meadow, blurring
The song of a lonely hardy sparrow.
I heard the wind, a singing arrow
Sigh through the pines, like the soft intaking
Of a sleeper’s breath—and the brittle breaking
Of frozen twigs, by my steps intruding
On Nature’s calm and her quiet brooding.
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