 It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachuk. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered stream soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees, and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling. Amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for LibriVox.org by Campbell Schelp. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered stream soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling. Amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered stream soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient, but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling. Amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for LibriVox.org by Fawn. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered stream soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient, but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling. Amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for LibriVox.org by Florence Short. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered stream soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient, but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling. Amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for LibriVox.org by Garth Burton. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling. Amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling. Amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Graham Scott, Cheltenham, England. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Ian King. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Jim Gallagher. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Josh Kibbey. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Leanne Howlett. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Larry Wilson. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight dancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Lucy Park. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Michelle Fry, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these, the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid deserts of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Nan Dodge. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Phil Shempf. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Skip. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Scotty Smith. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Thomas Peter. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Librivox.org by Thomas Peter. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid deserts of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. It is in winter that we dream of spring, by Robert Burns Wilson, read for Libbervox.org by Wynn Stewart. It is in winter that we dream of spring, for all the barren bleakness and the cold, the longing fancy sees the frozen mould decked with sweet blossoming, though all the birds be silent, though the fettered streams soft voice be still, and on the leafless bow the snow be rested, marble-like, and chill, yet will the fancy build from these the transient but well-pleasing dream of leaf and bloom among the trees and sunlight glancing on the stream. Though to the eye the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid deserts of the fields, it is in winter that we dream of spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.