WHEN cold December <br />Froze to grisamber <br />The jangling bells on the sweet rose-trees-- <br />Then fading slow <br />And furred is the snow <br />As the almond's sweet husk-- <br />And smelling like musk. <br />The snow amygdaline <br />Under the eglantine <br />Where the bristling stars shine <br />Like a gilt porcupine-- <br />The snow confesses <br />The little Princesses <br />On their small chioppines <br />Dance under the orpines. <br />See the casuistries <br />Of their slant fluttering eyes-- <br />Gilt as the zodiac <br />(Dancing Herodiac). <br />Only the snow slides <br />Like gilded myrrh-- <br />From the rose-branches--hides <br />Rose-roots that stir.<br /><br />Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-cold-december/
