Looking Out a Window On a December Night

Those drapes of snow, which out my window dance, like thy white arms, that my warm heart surround, are ghostly visions false, heav’nly rants, deceiving my mind, of no substance found, replacing grey fact with hard diamant, enjewelling e’en mud with improper grace, painting most pure what proves of beauty scant, giving unto sin fair virtue’s clean face. They swim in billowed air exposed to gust like dreams upon a too-convincing stage, and when the earth dooms these to that cruel must, and when that fond myth is proven a mirage, mine eyes shall swim in moister element; for tricks are fouler which are heaven-sent.