166
JACK FROST.
Drunk with the mellow sunshine, nor dreaming of spears of ice!
Was it not enough that the crickets your weapon of power should pierce?
Pray what have you done to the flowers? Jack Frost, you are cruel and fierce.
With never a sign or a whisper, you kissed them, and lo, they exhale
Their beautiful lives; they are drooping, their sweet color ebbs, they are pale,
They fade and they die! See the pansies, yet striving so hard to unfold
Their garments of velvety splendor, all Tyrian purple and gold.
But how weary they look, and how withered, like handsome court dames, who all night
Have danced at the ball till the sunrise struck chill to their hearts with its light.
Where hides the wood-aster? She vanished as snow-wreaths dissolve in the sun
The moment you touched her. Look yonder, where sober and gray as a nun
The maple-tree stands that at sunset was blushing as red as the sky;
At its foot, glowing scarlet as fire, its robes of magnificence lie.
Was it not enough that the crickets your weapon of power should pierce?
Pray what have you done to the flowers? Jack Frost, you are cruel and fierce.
With never a sign or a whisper, you kissed them, and lo, they exhale
Their beautiful lives; they are drooping, their sweet color ebbs, they are pale,
They fade and they die! See the pansies, yet striving so hard to unfold
Their garments of velvety splendor, all Tyrian purple and gold.
But how weary they look, and how withered, like handsome court dames, who all night
Have danced at the ball till the sunrise struck chill to their hearts with its light.
Where hides the wood-aster? She vanished as snow-wreaths dissolve in the sun
The moment you touched her. Look yonder, where sober and gray as a nun
The maple-tree stands that at sunset was blushing as red as the sky;
At its foot, glowing scarlet as fire, its robes of magnificence lie.
