Poetry Archives

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.