  (For a drawing by Dorothy Puvis Lathrop) THERE was a Fairy—flake of winter— Who, when the snow came, whispering, Silence, Sister crystal to crystal sighing, Making of meadow argent palace, Night a star-sown solitude, Cried 'neath her frozen eaves, 'I burn here!' Wings diaphanous, beating bee-like, Wand within fingers, locks enspangled, Icicle foot, lip sharp as scarlet, She lifted her eyes in her pitch-black hollow— Green as stalks of weeds in water— Breathed: stirred. Rilled from her heart the ichor, coursing, Flamed and awoke her slumbering magic. Softlier than moth's her pinions trembled; Out into blackness, light-like, she flittered, Leaving her hollow cold, forsaken. In air, o'er crystal, rang twangling night-wind. Bare, rimed pine-woods murmured lament.
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