In Winder Woods 
 
   When summer went away with noiseless tread, 
   And autumn's crimson faded from the crest 
   Of the blue hills, and leaf and flower were dead, 
   The woods lay down to rest. 
 
   All through the forest now the snows are deep, 
   And, folded down beneath untrodden white, 
   Safe, warm, and guarded, woodland treasures sleep 
   And wait for springtime's light. 
 
   The winds are sad and sing a sad refrain 
   Among the minstrel pines and beeches gray, 
   ...

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