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See, like a Ladye in a festal garb,
How gaily decked she waits the Christinas time!
Her robe of living emerald, that waves
And, shining, rustles in the frost-bright air,
Is garlanded with bunches of small flowers,—
Small bell-shaped flowers, each of an orient pearl
Most delicately modelled, and just tinged
With faintest yellow, as if, lit within,
There hung a fairy torch in each lamp-flower.
Some have a pinky hue, soft as a shell
Painted by Amphitrite's hands; for they, less white
Than Lilies when they ope, blush e'en to know
That Summer hath a flower more pure than they.
Nor are her pearls the only wealth displayed
By this fair Winter Queen; for, all around,
Among those bead-like wreaths do gleam and glow
Jewels of many hues; globes of rich gold
Hanging beside the pale green chrysophrase;
And those contrasted by the ruby's light,
Or coral, snatched from out some sea-maid's cell;
Against which amber soft and palely shines,
Fast deep'ning to the hue the topaz wears.
And these, with ceaseless changefulness of shade,
Broider that Ladye's pearl-enwreathed robe
Of vernal emerald,—When chilling storms
Howl dismally around, and Winter shakes,
Wide spreading to the blast, his hoary locks,
