Aha! he is here again.
His stormy trumpets blow;
The swift, dim lines of the beating rain
Blossom to starry snow,

Till the air is white as a nun
With the whirling, thistledown grace
Of myriad flakes, and every one
A fret of fairy lace.

Each naked stem they cloak
Till it shines like a birch in spring,
And each dry leaf that clings to the oak
Becomes a feathery wing.

With morning the drifts are deep,
And strangely over them go,
Like dreams on the silent heart of sleep,
Shadows of jay and crow;

But the hungry chickadees wait,
Their tree-hollow sealed with ice,
Till the sun shall open that crystal gate
To a sparkling paradise;

For never a branch so bare,
So gnarled and crooked and gray,
But it dazzles with diamonds unaware
And rainbows out at play.

Too soon the sun unfurls
Gold banners in the west;
The diamond pendants pale to pearls,
The flying shadows rest;

And the fair young moon in joy
Comes flushing up the sky,
To find our world a Christmas toy
Carven in ivory.