The Shepherd Wind

When hills and plains are powdered white, And bitter cold the north wind blows, Upon my window in the night A fairy-garden grows.

Here lilies that no hand hath sown Bloom white as foam upon the sea, And elfin bells to earth unknown, Hold frost-bound melody.

And here are blossoms like to stars Tangled in nets of silver lace,-- My very breath their beauty mars, Or stirs them from their place.

Perchance the echoes of old songs, Found here a resting place at last, With drifting perfume, that belongs To roses of the past,--

Or all the moonbeams that were lost On summer nights the world forgets, May here be prisoned by the frost, With souls of violets.

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The wind doth shepherd many things,-- And when the nights are long and cold, Who knows how strange a flock he brings All safely to the fold.