The old ones found them safe, poor trembling things;
They smoothed and fed them, and that very day
They taught them how to spread their little wings,
And 'mong the garden trees to soar away.
Lullaby, lullaby?

* * * * *



SNOW.

The snow, the snow is coming,
So graceful and light,
All over every thing,
Beautiful and white.

A thousand, thousand snow-flakes,
They're swimming in the air;
They fall upon the cherry-trees,
And hang like blossoms there.

They are coming, coming, coming,
As far as I can see;
They 'light, like little fairy birds,
Upon the old oak tree.

Each flake of snow is pretty--
A spangle or a gem;
But they melt away in dew-drops--