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The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snow-fall hoods me round;
In wood and water, earth and air
A silence everywhere
Save when at lonely intervals
Some farmer's sleigh, urged on,
With rustling runners and sharp bells
Swings by me and is gone;
Or from the empty waste I hear
A sound remote and clear
The barking of a dog, or call
To cattle, sharply pealed,
Borne echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent and the snow falls
Settling soft and slow