A Fancy by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Drop down the crimson curtains, / And shut out the dazzling snow, / The cold white mantle that covers / The hills, where the grasses should grow; / And stir up the fire till it burneth, / With a heat like the midsummer sun. / And hang up the cage by the window, / And bring in the plants, one by one.

Till they perfume the air with a fragrance / As rare as the summer can bring. / And call to the bird, till he trilleth / The sweetest of notes he can sing. / And let me lie here, while you fan me, / Till the lazy air stirs, like a breeze. / That comes o'er the hills in the summer, / And rustles the tops of the trees.

Then sing me a song of the summer, / A song full of warmth and sunlight, / And I will forget that the winter / Stalks over the earth in his might. / I will dream that I lie in the clover, / And your voice is the voice of the breeze, / And the bird in the cage is the robin, / That sends down his song from the trees.