Henry Alford

Written On Christmas Eve, 1836

The earth is clad For her bridal glad; Her robe is white As the spotless light; O'er field and hill Its folds are still. From her aëry throne The moon looks down, Clothing with glory The tree--tops hoary, Which glittering are Like purest spar. A star or two Diamond--blue Through the space peers Where the vapour clears, And in long white masses Silently passes. The wind is awake, And his voice doth shake The frost from the trees; Then by degrees Swells with a louder sound, Till it dies on the level ground.