Frost Song

The sky was clear, without a cloud,
And silver moon shone on a shroud
Of hoary frost.
I wandered lonely through the night
And gazed on the bewitching sight
Of gleam and luster.
I thought I heard a chanting song,
Fair, ruthless voices of a throng
Of many thousands.
I turned my ear to catch the theme -
A lovely, cruel, chilling dream -
Of singing frost.

"Yield to our shining enchantment,
Yield to the spell of our song,
Drift into the sleep that is endless,
Cold death, so resistless and strong.

Do not dream of fresh flowers or bird hymns,
Or the sunshine's enlivening rays.
Do not dream of the coming of springtime,
Or warmth of the lengthening days.

Let your slumbers be filled with our singing,
And your dreams be of darkness and frost.
Forget your vain hopes of the summer.
Our spell is complete - you are lost."

The sky was clear, without a cloud,
And silver moon shone on a shroud
Of hoary frost.
I lay, enchanted, in the night,
And closed my eyes upon the sight
Of gleam and luster.
My body, captured by the song,
Became part of the spellbound throng
Of sleeping thousands.
My will obeyed the chanted theme,
I slipped into a chilly dream
Of singing frost.