hen the Frost-spirit, with her icy wand,
Strikes the cold Northwind, bringing frost and snow,
She sends her Fairies through the frozen land
To deck with sculpture all the world below;
Soon every bank, so lately green with grass,
Like streets of marble to the margin lies,
And here and there, wherever one may pass,
Frail, fairy structures magic-like arise;
The slender willows, bow'd in artless grief,
Appear in white, as pledge of Winter's care,
And every idle reed and clinging leaf
Have spirits, full as bright, beside them there;
While pine and hemlock, shorn of all their green,
Stand out like sculptur'd Druids of the wood;
And the small beeches, hovering between,
Seem children of some banish'd brotherhood;
The broken stumps become as kingly chairs,
The fallen logs, great pillars, round and white,
And the dead branches, Oriental stairs
That lead to rooms all glittering with light;
Each mossy knoll becomes a marble mound,
Th' unlettered stones, all artless works of art,
And e'en the brooklets in the forest round
Are set with diamonds dear to Nature's heart.