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The great Missouri, that when Spring was young
Rolled by in still increasing, fearsome flow,
Now shrinks beneath the ice where skaters go
Swifter than arrow by an Indian sprung;
And all the branches of the trees are hung
With crystals sparkling in the sunshine's glow,
While on the carpet of the fresh-laid snow
Play's riot vaults the shouting youths among.
Then down the hills the reckless coasters fly,
The air is thick with balls, and wrestlers try
For victory's palm contending breast to breast.
O marvellous time, when as stern Winter stormed,
He boyhood's bosom with his ices warmed,
And Hope's great bow in newer colors dressed.