Over My Window In Pencillings White, Stealthily Traced In The Silence Of Night - Traced With A Pencil As Viewless As Air, By An Artist Unseen, When The Star-Beams Were Fair, Came Wonderful Pictures, So Life-Like And True That I'm Filled With Amaze As The Marvel I View. Like, And Yet Unlike The Things I Have Seen, - Feathery Ferns In The Forest-Depths Green, Delicate Mosses That Hide From The Light, Snow-Drops, And Lilies, And Hyacinths White, Fringes, And Feathers, And Half-Opened Flowers, Closely-Twined Branches Of Dim, Cedar Bowers - Strange, That One Hand Should So Deftly Combine Such Numberless Charms In So Quaint A Design! O Wondrous Creations Of Silence And Night! I Watch As Ye Fade In The Clear Morning Light, - As Ye Melt Into Tear-Drops And Trickle Away From The Keen, Searching Eyes Of Inquisitive Day. While I Gaze Ye Are Gone, And I See You Depart With A Wistful Regret Lying Deep In My Heart, - A Longing For Something That Will Not Decay, Or Melt Like These Frost-Flowers In Tear-Drops Away, - A Passionate Yearning Of Heart For That Shore Where Beauty Unfading Shall Last Evermore; Nor, E'En As We Gaze, From Our Vision Be Lost Like The Beautiful Things That Are Pencilled In Frost!