First Snow on the Hills
The hills kneel in a huddled group,
Like camels of the caravan,
And winter piles upon their patient backs
Its snows.
And through the desert of long nights and days
I think I see them stepping—stepping—
In misty file,
Toward the green land of Spring!
Like camels of the caravan,
And winter piles upon their patient backs
Its snows.
And through the desert of long nights and days
I think I see them stepping—stepping—
In misty file,
Toward the green land of Spring!
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