ROM under the boughs in the snow-clad wood Still happy are they, And their looks are gay, And they frisk it from bough to bough; Since berries bright red Hang over their head, A right goodly feast, I trow. There, under the boughs, in their wintry dress, Haps many a tender greeting; Blithe hearts have met, and the soft caress Hath told the delight of meeting. Though winter hath come To his woodland home, There is mirth with old Christmas cheer, Is the fruit-fraught bough, And each to his love is near. Yes! under the boughs, scarce seen, nestle they, As blissful by night, as joyous by day, When the flowers bloom again in the mead; Of those blossoms gay, Such help in their time of need! HARRISON WEIR. |