THE LITTLE DIPPER

ITTLE Dipper, piping sweet
in the shrewd mid-winter weather ;
Nesting in the linn, where spray
splashes nest and sprinkles feather ;

’Neath the fringes of the ice,

down the burn-side, blithely diving ;
Piping, piping with full throat, —

bite the frost or be snow driving :

Life’s white winter comes apace ;
oh, but gaily shall I bide it
If my bosom, like thy nest,
house a singing-bird inside it !

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