The fir trees taper into twigs & wear
The rich blue green of summer all the year
Softening the roughest tempest almost calm
& offering shelter ever still & warm
To the small path that towels underneath
Where loudest winds almost as summers breath
Scarce fan the weed that lingers green below
When others out of doors are lost in frost & snow
& sweet the music trembles on the ear
As the wind suthers through each tiny spear
Makeshifts for leaves & yet so rich they show
Winter is almost summer where they grow
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