From the quaint old farm-house, nestling warmly'Neath its overhanging thatch of snow,Out into the moonlight troop the children,Filling all the air with music as they go,Gliding, sliding,Down the hill,Never mindingCold nor chill,O'er the silveredMoon-lit snow,Swift as arrowFrom the bow,With a rushOf mad delightThrough the crisp airOf the night,Speeding far outO'er the plain,Trudging gaylyUp againTo where the firelight'sRuddy glowTurns to goldThe...
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