Eugene Lee-Hamilton (1845–1907)

THEY wheel’d me up the snow-clear’d garden way,

And left me where the dazzling heaps were thrown;

And as I mused on winter sports once known,

Up came a tiny man to where I lay.

He was six inches high; his beard was grey

As silver frost; his coat and cap were brown,

Of mouse’s fur; while two wee skates hung down

From his wee belt, and gleam’d in winter’s ray.

He clamber’d up my couch, and eyed me long.

‘Show me thy skates,’ said I; ‘for once, alas!

I too could skate. What pixie mayst thou be?’

‘I am the king’, he answered, ‘of the throng

Called Winter Elves. We live in roots, and pass

The summer months asleep. Frost sets us free.’

‘WE find by moonlight little pools of ice,

Just one yard wide,’ the imp of winter said;

‘And skate all night, while mortals are in bed,

In tiny circles of our elf device;

And when it snows we harness forest mice

To wee bark sleighs, with lightest fibrous thread,

And scour the woods; or play all night instead

With snowballs large as peas, well patted thrice.

But is it true, as I have heard them say,

That thou canst share in winter games no more,

But liest motionless, year in, year out?

That must be hard. To-day I cannot stay,

But I’ll return each year, when all is hoar,

And tell thee when the skaters are about.’