Magician He, Who, Autumn Nights, Down From The Starry Heavens Whirls; A Harlequin In Spangled Tights, Whose Wand'S Touch Carpets Earth With Pearls. Through Him Each Pane Presents A Scene, A Lilliputian Landscape, Where The World Is White Instead Of Green, And Trees And Houses Hang In Air. Where Elfins Gambol And Delight, And Haunt The Jewelled Bells Of Flowers; Where Upside-Down We See The Night With Many Moons And Starry Showers. And Surely In His Wand Or Hand Is Midas Magic, For, Behold, Some Morn We Wake And Find The Land, Both Field And Forest, Turned To Gold.