Rustily creak the crickets: Jack Frost came down last night, He slid to the earth on a starbeam, keen and sparkling and bright; He sought in the grass for the crickets with delicate icy spear, So sharp and fine and fatal, and he stabbed them far and near. Only a few stout fellows, thawed by the morning sun, Chirrup a mournful echo of by gone frolic and fun. But yesterday such a rippling chorus ran all over the land, Over the hills and the valleys, down to the gray sea-sand. Millions of merry harlequins, skipping and dancing in glee, Cricket and locust and grasshopper, happy as happy could be: Scooping rich caves in ripe apples, and feeding on honey and spice, 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. Despoiler! stripping the world as you strip the shivering tree Of color and sound and perfume, scaring the bird and the bee, Turning beauty to ashes—O to join the swift swallows and fly Far away out of sight of your mischief! I give you no welcome, not I!
