Jack Frost

The Frost looked forth one still, clear night,
And whispered, “Now I shall be out of sight;
So, through the valley, and over the height,
In silence I’ll take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
That make such a bustle and noise in vain,
But I’ll be as busy as they!”

So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest
With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.
Hannah F. Gould