THE FROST ON THE WINDOW

Feathery frost on the window-pane,

Who placed you there? “I cannot explain,”

Each little feather at once replied;

“But this I know, I'm the children's pride,

As they think I fell from an angel's wing,

And coming to earth must rich blessings bring.

“I once formed part of a lovely bay;

The sun shone out, and I turned to spray,

And rose aloft on the ambient air,

To the regions high where all is rare;

Then I mingled with my old friends again,

Who were my neighbors in the haunts of men.

“On the blustering wind, I rode along,

Sometimes hard tossed by the tempest strong,

And then at rest, as when in the bay,

Though much enlarged, the wise savants say;

Though I cannot tell you how long my sleep,

With a chill I woke and began to weep.

“And my ample form much smaller grew,

By the cold compressed to a drop of dew;

Then down I fell, swift as bounding deer,

And knew no more till I fell right here;

But how I became so like a feather

Is problem I can unravel never.

“But, oh, how the sun begins to burn!

I think I must to the clouds return.

Farewell, my boy! but you must not fret;

We meet again, as we now have met,

If not as a feather, perhaps a tree,

Or whatever the Wise One may make of me.”