  When I wakened, very early, All my window-pane was pearly With a sparkling little picture traced in lines of shining white; Some magician with a gleaming Frosty brush, while I was dreaming, Must have come and by the starlight worked through all the quiet night. He had painted frosty people, And a frosty church and steeple, And a frosty bridge and river tumbling over frosty rocks; Frosty mountain peaks that glimmered, And fine frosty ferns that shimmered, And a frosty little pasture full of frosty little flocks. It was all touched in so lightly And it glittered, oh, so whitely, That I gazed and gazed in wonder at the lovely painted pane; Then the sun rose high and higher With his wand of golden fire Till, alas, my picture vanished and I looked for it in vain! |
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