The Heavy Train Through The Dim Country Went Rolling, Rolling, Interminably Passing Misty Snow-Covered Plough-Land Ridges That Merged In The Snowy Sky; Came Turning Meadows, Fences, Came Gullies And Passed, And Ice-Coloured Streams Under Frozen Bridges. Across The Travelling Landscape Evenly Drooped And Lifted The Telegraph Wires, Thick Ropes Of Snow In The Windless Air; They Drooped And Paused And Lifted Again To Unseen Summits, Drawing The Eyes And Soothing Them, Often, To A Drowsy Stare. Singly In The Snow The Ghosts Of Trees Were Softly Pencilled, Fainter And Fainter, In Distance Fading, Into Nothingness Gliding, But Sometimes A Crowd Of The Intricate Silver Trees Of Fairyland Passed, Close And Intensely Clear, The Phantom World Hiding. O Untroubled These Moving Mantled Miles Of Shadowless Shadows, And Lovely The Film Of Falling Flakes; So Wayward And Slack; But I Thought Of Many A Mother-Bird Screening Her Nestlings, Sitting Silent With Wide Bright Eyes, Snow On Her Back.