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watching the snow.
      Up softly I sidle
      From where I sit idle,—
I snatch, as it flies, at the gossamer bridle,—
      I am mounted, I rise!

      Away we are bounding,
      No hoof-note resounding,
Still as light is our flight through the armies surrounding;
      No murmur, no rustling,
      Though millions are jostling;
A host is in camp, but you heard neither bustling
      Nor bugle, nor tramp.

      Yet the truce-flag is lifted;
      Unfurled it lies drifted
Over hill, over rill, where its snow could be sifted;
      And now I'm returning
      To parley concerning
The beautiful cause that awakened my yearning,—
      The trouble that was.

      Ho!ho! a swift fairy,—
      A pearl-shallop airy!
I am caught, quick as thought! fleece-muffled and hairy,