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When, in the dark, the frost cracks on the window
The
children awaken, and whisper.
One says the moonlight grated like a skate
Across the freezing river.
Another hears the starlight breaking like a
knifeblade
Upon the silent, steelbright pond.
They say the trees are
stiller than the frozen water
From waiting for a shouting light, a heavenly
message.
Yet it is far from Christmas, when a star Sang in the
pane, as brittle as their innocence! For now the light of early Lent
Glitters upon the icy step - "We have wept letters to our patron saints,
(The children say) yet slept before they ended."
Oh, is there in this night no sound of strings, of singers!
None coming from the wedding, no, nor Bridegroom's messenger? (The
sleepy virgins stir, and trim their lamps.)
The moonlight rings upon the ice as sudden as a footstep;
Starlight clinks upon the dooryard stone, too like a latch, And the children are again, awake,
and all call out in
whispers to their guardian angels.
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