Like small curled feathers, white and soft,
  The little clouds went by,
Across the moon, and past the stars,
  And down the western sky:
In upland pastures, where the grass
  With frosted dew was white,
Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay.
  That first, best Christmas night.

The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,
  With twist of thin, blue smoke,
Only their fire's crackling flames
  The tender silence broke—
Save when a young lamb raised his head,
  Or, when the night wind blew,
A nesting bird would softly stir,
  Where dusky olives grew—

With finger on her solemn lip,
  Night hushed the shadowy earth,
And only stars and angels saw
  The little Saviour's birth;
Then came such flash of silver light
  Across the bending skies,
The wondering shepherds woke, and hid
  Their frightened, dazzled eyes !