Jack Frost

The door was shut, as doors should be,
  Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
  And left your window silver white.

And now you cannot see the trees
  Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane;
But there are fairer things than these
  His fingers traced on every pane:

Rocks and castles towering high;
  Hills and dales and streams and fields;
Anf knights in armor riding by, 
  With nodding plumes and shining shields.

And here are little boats, and there
  Big ships with sails spread to the breeze;
And yonder, palm trees waving fair
  On islands set in silver seas.

Gabriel Setoun