Christmas-tree lark in a forest of bells,
I would have you forever mine —
In the ruby globes of apple and rose
In the snare of the tinsel vine —
A blue glass bird in a burning bush,
Whistling a ripple of shine.

A little lower than spire
Reserved for the angel’s star,
You swing upside down in the branches,
A bird that wert and are —
Sing, in the dropping of needles,
Of shores that are warm and far.

in lamb’s wool curls I’ll lay you
Of ornaments all most frail,
And my soul in the woods that are sleeping,
A knight in mercurial mail,
Shall wander till next year’s Advent —
Seeking the Child, the Grail.

You will swing by your toes in those treetops
And tweeter a tune through your tail —
The storm and the star in the fir bough,
Dark of the year and gale —
O. harp in the wind, and in darkness
O, silver and aerial trail.

For the glistening toys of Christmas
Only have signified
The Neverwerts, love and beauty,
That mists and the wet ferns hide.
Grave be the hour of knowing so —
Solemn, their laying aside.