Arrayed in gleaming white,
Nor heard the sledge's silver bells
Go tinkling through the night.
For thee no glittering snow-storm whirls;
Thou hast instead of this
Only the dust-storm's eddying swirls—
The hot-wind's scalding kiss!
What can'st thou know of frozen lakes,
Or Hyde—that Park divine?
For, though by no means lacking snakes,