253
"For I shall bring
Curtains all wove of the silvery snow,
And drop them around—above—below,
While not a thing
That thou hast cherished its face shall show.
Fling away all
Thy fluttering leaves and faded flowers;
Too slight—too small
Their forms would seem in my lofty bowers;
For wreaths and garlands are sculptured there
Like marble, yet whiter than ever were
The chisel's triumphs—and all so light,
Like down, or gossamer streamers slight,
That a breeze can shake the branches bare.
"Oft in the night,
When wearied mortals lie warmly sleeping,
I o'er the world through the air am sweeping;
Roaming about
And tricking out
Each familiar scene like a Fairy Land;
Hanging pendants of icicles clear
From roof, shed, window—there and here,
In many a crystal and diamond spear;
And flinging pearls with a lavish hand
O'er hedge, field, fence, bush, grove, and tree,
All set in a silvery filagree.
