When cold December 
Froze to grisamber 
The jangling bells on the sweet rose-trees — 
Then fading slow 
And furred is the snow 
As the almond's sweet husk —
And smelling like musk. 
The snow amygdaline 
Under the eglantine 
Where the bristling stars shine 
Like a gilt porcupine — 
The snow confesses 
The little Princesses 
On their small chioppines 
Dance under the orpines. 
See the casuistries 
Of their slant fluttering eyes — 
Gilt as the zodiac 
(Dancing Herodiac). 
Only the snow slides 
Like gilded myrrh —
From the rose-branches—hides 
Rose-roots that stir.