With hoary-woven locks,

And grey men young with roses in their cheeks.

And after thaws, when liberal water swells

The bursting eaves, he biddeth drip and grow

The curly horns of ribbèd icicles

In many a beard-like row.

In secret moods of mercy and soft dole,

Old warpèd wrecks and things of mouldering death

That summer scorns and man abandoneth

His careful hands console

With lawny robes and draperies of snow.

[Pg 29]

And when night comes, his spirits with chill feet,

Winged with white mirth and noiseless mockery,

Across men's pallid windows peer and fleet,

And smiling silverly

Draw with mute fingers on the frosted glass

Quaint fairy shapes of icèd witcheries,

Pale flowers and glinting ferns and frigid trees

And meads of mystic grass,

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