by J. Ashby Sterry.
Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.1 #3 (Jan 1867).
One Christmas down at Lynton Hall—
It was so pleasant, I remember—
The hopes and joys I now recall
Of that cold, bitter, bleak December;
When winter's sky was overcast,
Or in the bright and frosty weather,
Snowflake and I—those times are past—
Walked, flirted, danced, or read together!
I called her Snowflake; she looked bright
As snow fresh fallen in the morning,
Just flushed by kiss of rosy light,
Of sunny rays when day is dawning:
Her bosom—white like driven snow,
She seemed as fragile and as tender;
I found—in waltzing, you must know—
Her foot was light, her waist was slender.
How lovely she appeared that night,
In sheeniest of gauzy dresses,
With tangled wreath of snowdrops white
All twining midst her golden tresses!
Round her neck clung orient pearls,
Which softly shone, yet glimmered brightly;
She quite eclipsed the other girls,
When floating down the stairs so lightly.
Ah, me! I recollect those hours—
Since then I've grown a trifle older—
I found just now some faded flowers,
Reminding me of all I told her.
And Snowflake? Well, it's rather hard
For hearts with one another smitten—
But, let me see, I think the Bard
Says "lovers' vows in snow are written"!