“Through the hush’d air the whit’ning shower descends,
At first, thin wavering; till at last the flakes
Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day
With a continual flow. The cherish’d fields
Put on their winter robe of purest white,
~~~~~Drooping, the laborer ox
Stands cover’d with the snow, and then demands
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven
Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon
Which Providence assigns them. One alone,
The redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man
His annual visit. Half afraid, he first against
The window beats; then, brisk, alights
On the warm hearth; then, hopping o’er the floor,
Eyes all the smiling family askance,
And pecks and starts, and wonders where he is—
Till, more familiar grown, the table crumbs
Attract his slender feet.”