Sitting under white branches,
You can hear the wind blowing,
In blankets of mist shrouded,
See the silent clouds flowing.
See how the fields and forests
Are bare, extinguished, down below –'
loved these Winter lines which but a few lines later passed into Spring, the seasons were flying in this poem
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Sitting under white branches, You can hear the wind blowing, In blankets of mist shrouded, See the silent clouds flowing. See how the fields and forests Are bare, extinguished, down below –' loved these Winter lines which but a few lines later passed into Spring, the seasons were flying in this poem