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by Charles T. Brooks

Now no plumed throng
Charms the wood with song;
Icebound trees are glittering;
Merry snowbirds, twittering,
Fondly strive to cheer
Scenes so cold and drear.

Winter, still I see
Many charms in thee,
Love thy chilly greeting,
Snowstorms fiercely beating,
And the dear delights
Of the long, long nights.