Archibald Lampman


    Along the narrow sandy height
      I watch them swiftly come and go,
        Or round the leafless wood,
      Like flurries of wind-driven snow,
    Revolving in perpetual flight,
        A changing multitude.

    Nearer and nearer still they sway,
      And, scattering in a circled sweep,
        Rush down without a sound;
      And now I see them peer and peep,
    Across yon level bleak and gray,
        Searching the frozen ground,--

    Until a little wind upheaves,
      And makes a sudden rustling there,
        And then they drop their play,
      Flash up into the sunless air,
    And like a flight of silver leaves
        Swirl round and sweep away.

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