Whose fretwork sparkles to the winter moon
White, as if roses never flushed in June.
Author not traced.
Ah, gracious powers! I wish you would send me an old aunt—a maiden aunt—an aunt with a lozenge on her carriage and a front of light, coffee-coloured hair—how my children should work work-bags for her, and my Julia and I would make her comfortable! Sweet—sweet vision! Foolish—foolish dream!
Thackeray (Vanity Fair).
IDENTITY.
Somewhere—in desolate wind-swept space—
In Twilight-land—in No-Man’s land—