'Twas warm-at first-like Us-
Until there crept upon
A Chill-like frost upon a Glass-
Till all the scene-be gone.

The Forehead copied Stone-
The Fingers grew too cold
To ache-and like a Skater's Brook-
The busy eyes-congealed-

It straightened-that was all-
It crowded Cold to Cold-
It multiplied indifference-
As Pride were all it could-

And even when with Cords-
'Twas lowered, like a Weight-
It made no Signal, nor demurred,
But dropped like Adamant.