Morning Glories : | ||
61
DECEMBER.
The skies o'ercast and fierce winds blowTheir chilling breath thro' leafless trees,
Streams fetter-bound in icy chains,
And frosty net-work on the panes.
The birds have sought a summer clime,
Each tender floweret, bud and vine,
Has hid away with timid fear,
For lo, December days are here!
The blazing legs are heard to crack,
And all the grain is garnered now.
Morning Glories : | ||