  With her warm little finger, Gold Locks wrote On the icy window-pane A note. “Make me a Christmas-tree,” It read; It was signed with a flourish, “Yours, Gold Head.” Then out came the sunlight’s It melted the message All away. But the very next morning, Lo! behold! On the glass of the window, White and cold, Was a tapering fir-tree, Weighed with snow, Spire-like at the top, And broad below. Cried out little Gold Locks, “See, oh, see! Jack Frost has painted My Christmas-tree!” gil looking out window at birds |
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