 | Western windows and other poems |  |
117
WHITE FROST.
The ghostly Frost is come;
I feel him in the night;
The breathless Leaves are numb,
Motionless with affright:
The moon, arisen late and still,
Sees all their faces beaded chill.
I feel him in the night;
The breathless Leaves are numb,
Motionless with affright:
The moon, arisen late and still,
Sees all their faces beaded chill.
The ghostly Frost is here,
I see him in the night;
Through all the meadows near
Waver his garments white:
Ha! at our window looking through?
Ah, Frost, this Fire would conquer you!
I see him in the night;
Through all the meadows near
Waver his garments white:
Ha! at our window looking through?
Ah, Frost, this Fire would conquer you!
| Western windows and other poems | |