Nor robs the flower that it bereaves.
Then comes the frosty winter night,
With crystal boughs and icy brooks,
With snow-capped hills, afar and white,
A-lending light to earth’s dark nooks,
Diffusing rays and borrowed gleams
O’er darkened woods and shaded streams.
And then behold the dreary night,
Without the spell of moon or stars,
Whose somber silence seems to blight