292 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 
But silvery mosses that downward grew; 
Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 
With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; 
Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 
For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 
He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 
And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 
Which crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 
And made a star of every one: 
No mortal builder’s most rare device 
Could match this Winter-palace of ice; 
’Twas as if every image that mirrored lay 
In his depths serene through the Summer day, 
Each flitting shadow of earth and sky, 
Lest the happy model should be lost, 
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 
By the elfin builders of the frost. 
