For once the clock strikes midnight skies,
the winter shines; the tendrils gleam.
The forest lights with shimmered snow
and waits in darkness for the silence of sound.
Leaping through the barren trees,
the snowflakes sing along.
They tag and chase, and fly and tease
the wind's great graceful countenance.
The moon burst forth from neath
the clouds of dull and sullen gray;
it shed its light on forest fray,
its laughter ringing like clanging steel.
Away they flew with icy wings
to catch the northern wind.
And in the fret of midnight play,
the winter melted itself away
into the ticking song.
