The Fairy Artist

The Fairy Artist
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O, there is a little artist
Who paints in the cold night hours
Pictures for wee, wee children,
Of wondrous trees and flowers;

Pictures of snow-white mountains
Touching the snow-white sky;
Pictures of distant oceans
Where pygmy ships sail by;

Pictures of rushing rivers
By fairy bridges spanned;
Bits of beautiful landscapes
Copied from elfin-land

The moon is the lamp he paints by,
His canvas the window pane;
His brush is a frozen snow-flake:
Jack Frost the artist’s name