> The Frost
> _Hans Christian Andersen_
>
> On the window in the moonlight
> Frost has drawn through the night,
> With a light and wondrous hand,
> Trees and towers so grand,
> And a bridge through the reeds
> To a castle 'mid the weeds,
> All so wondrously fair.
>
> When the morning sun is shining,
> All these fancies are declining;
> Then we see what remains
> Of this picture of pains:
> Drops of water only
> On the window so lonely,
> From the foggy air congealed.
>
> What was wondrous and light
> In the pale moonshine bright,
> Is now naught but a blot,
> And its beauty forgot,
> When, in the window-frame,
> In the sun's golden flame,
> It dissolves itself quite.