Read the excerpt from “birches” by robert frost. when i see birches bend to left and right across the line of straighter darker trees, i like to think some boy’s been swinging them. but swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay. ice-storms do that. often you must have seen them loaded with ice a sunny winter morning after a rain. they click upon themselves as the breeze rises, and turn many-colored as the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— such heaps of broken glass to sweep away you’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. which lines describe the ice wrapping the tree branches? a. but swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay. ice-storms do that. often you must have seen them b. as the breeze rises, and turn many-colored as the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. c. soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— d. such heaps of broken glass to sweep away you’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.