XXXII

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XXXII

Already crisp hoar frosts impose

O’er all a sheet of silvery dust

(Readers expect the rhyme of rose,

There! take it quickly, if ye must).

Behold! than polished floor more nice

The shining river clothed in ice;

A joyous troop of little boys

Engrave the ice with strident noise.

A heavy goose on scarlet feet,

Thinking to float upon the stream,

Descends the bank with care extreme,

But staggers, slips, and falls. We greet

The first bright wreathing storm of snow

Which falls in starry flakes below.