A Game of Chess

Terrace and lawn are white with frost,Whose fretwork flowers upon the panes--A mocking dream of summer, lost'Mid winter's icy chains.

White-hot, indoors, the great logs gleam,Veiled by a flickering flame of blue:I see my love as in a dream--Her eyes are azure, too.

She puts her hair behind her ears(Each little ear so like a shell),Touches her ivory Queen, and fearsShe is not playing well.

For me, I think of nothing less:I think how those pure pearls become her--And which is sweetest, winter chessOr garden strolls in summer.

O linger, frost, upon the pane!O faint blue flame, still softly rise!O, dear one, thus with me remain,That I may watch thine eyes!