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 poppies 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.     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.