Wizard Frost

Wondrous things have come to pass

On my square of window-glass.

Looking in it I have seen

Grass no longer painted green,

Trees whose branches never stir,

Skies without a cloud to blur,

Birds below them sailing high,

Church-spires pointing to the sky,

And a funny little town

Where the people, up and down

Streets of silver, to me seem

Like the people in a dream,

Dressed in finest kinds of lace;

'Tis a picture on a space

Scarcely larger than the hand,

Of a tiny Switzerland,

Which the wizard Frost has drawn

'Twixt the nightfall and the dawn.

Quick! and see what he has done

Ere 'tis stolen by the Sun.