Out through the fields and the woods br And over the walls I have wended; br I have climbed the hills of view br And looked at the world, and descended; br I have come by the highway home, br And lo, it is ended. br br The leaves are all dead on the ground, br Save those that the oak is keeping br To ravel them one by one br And let them go scraping and creeping br Out over the crusted snow, br When others are sleeping.