They dwelt Beside a glen and near a dashing brook, A pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren Was heard to chatter, and, among the grass, Flowers opened earliest; but, when winter came, That little brook was fringed with other flowers,-- White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that grew In clear November nights. And, later still, That mountain glen was filled with drifted snows From side to side, that one might walk across, While, many a fathom deep, below, the brook Sang to itself, and leaped and trotted on Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale.