nibbleth

Updated: May 21, 2025

When Winter fringes every bough With his fantastic wreath, And puts the seal of silence now Upon the leaves beneath; When every stream in its pent-house Goes gurgling on its way, And in his gallery the mouse Nibbleth the meadow hay; Methinks the summer still is nigh, And lurketh underneath, As that same meadow-mouse doth lie Snug in that last year's heath.

Henry David Thoreau - Excursions