The Land of
The frost looked forth on a still, chill night,
And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the valley and over the height
I'll silently take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
That make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they!"
He flew up, and powered the mountain's crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread
A bright coat of mail, that it need not fear
The glittering point of many a spear
That hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock was rearing its head
He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane, like a fairy crept;
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
Most beautiful things were seen
By morning's first light! There were flowers and trees,
With bevies of birds and swarms of bright bees;
There were cities, temples, and towers; and these
All pictured in silvery sheen!
But one thing he did that was hardly fair,
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That none had remembered for him to prepare,
"Now just to set them a-thinking,
I'll bite their rich basket of fruit," said he
"This burly old pitcher, I'll burst it in three!
And the glass with the water they've left for me
Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"
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