Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/203

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THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW.
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And lo! a glorious hall, from whose high vaultStripes of soft light, ruddy, and delicate green,And tender blue, flowed downward to the floorAnd far around, as if the aerial hosts,That march on high by night, with beamy spears,And streaming banners, to that place had broughtTheir radiant flags to grace a festival. And in that hall a joyous multitudeOf those by whom its glistening walls were reared,Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds,That rang from cymbals of transparent ice,And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touchOf little fingers. Round and round they flew,As when, in spring, about a chimney top,A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned,Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again,Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly
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