Classic Poem

We took a walk in winter woods,
My little lad and I, —
The hills and hollows all were pearl,
And sapphire all the sky.

Before guerilla winds we saw
The scurrying drift retreat;
We thought of budded roots that lay
Asleep beneath our feet.

We spoke of how, last year, in May,
One sunny bank we found
Where wind-flowers stood in fairy crowds,
To charm the gladdened ground.

A subtle feeling checked the boy, —
His small hand held me back,
With mute appeal that we should tread
The wood-path's beaten track.

" My child, 'tis pleasanter to break
New pathways as we go. "
He said, " I do not like to spoil
The beauty of the snow. "