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Wondrous things have come to pass On my square of window-glass. Looking in it I have seen Grass no longer painted green, Trees whose branches never stir, Skies without a cloud to blur, Birds below them sailing high, Church-spires pointing to the sky, And a funny little town Where the people, up and down Streets of silver, to me seem Like the people in a dream, Dressed in finest kinds of lace; 'Tis a picture on a space Scarcely larger than the hand, Of a tiny Switzerland, Which the wizard Frost has drawn 'Twixt the nightfall and the dawn. Quick! and see what he has done Ere 'tis stolen by the Sun. |