Madison Cawein - Frost lyrics

White artist he, who, breezeless nights, From tingling stars jocosely whirls, A harlequin in spangled tights, His wand a pot of pounded pearls. The field a hasty pallet; for, In thin or thick, with daub and streak, It stretches from the barn-gate's bar To the bleached ribbon of the creek. A great geometer is he; For, on the creek's diaphanous silk, Sphere, cone, and star exquisitely He's drawn in crystal lines of milk. Most delicate, his talent keen On casement panes he lavishes, In many a Lilliputian scene Of vague white hives and milky bees, That sparkling in still swarms delight, Or bow the j**eled bells of flowers;— Of dim, deep landscapes of the night, Hanging down limpid domes quaint showers Of feathery stars and meteors Above an upland's glimmering ways, Where gambol 'neath the feverish stars The erl-king and the fleecy fays. Or last, one arabesque of ferns, Chrysanthemums and mistletoe, And d**h-pale roses bunched in urns That with an innate glory glow. In leafless woodlands saturnine, Where reckless winds, like goblins mad, Screech swinging in each barren vine, His wagship shapes a lesson sad: When slyly touched by his white hand Of Midas-magic, forests old Dariuses of pomp then stand Barbaric-crowned with living gold... Patrician state, plebeian blood Soon foster sybarites, and they, Squand'ring their riches, wood by wood, Die palsied wrecks debauched and gray.