The night is still, the silent frost hangs thick
On leaf and gra**, the j**el's coming day
Will light to softened splendour. Bright and quick
The starbeams through the crisp air thrill. Away
Swifter than these a thought has southward sped,
And back returned on faithful, homing wing,
Bearing the picture of a golden head
Pressed on a snowy pillow. Slumbering
My darling lies; each eyelid, silken-fringed,
Droops like a dove's breast-feather tremulously--
The lips, a petalled casket half unhinged,
Show pearls more bright than holds the silver sea.
For now a stray dream-spirit at her ear
Tells to the child some tale she smiles to hear.