The LanternWithin the forest dark and gray curls a mist beneath the dayBetween the pines it spins in fright, again waiting for the nightAnd as the failing sun draws past, clouds retreat and shadows castUpon the snow within the sight, of a lantern in the nightBlack as ice its crooked spire, silver ring above the fireAnd though its flame gives little heat, its pale glow makes night retreatFrom the abyss come flakes of snow, shyly falling calm and slowThe mist shall fade and will not last, its left the lamp to its pastWhere dark and cold it lay alone, he was stolen from his throneIn the water it rest in sight, of the place it lit at nigh