Under The Hunter’S Moon

White from her chrysalis of cloud, The moth-like moon swings upward through the night; And all the bee-like stars that crowd Heav’n’s hollow hive wane in her silvery light.

Along the distance folds of mist Hang frost-pale, ridging all the dark with gray; Tinting the trees with amethyst, Touching with pearl and purple every spray.

All night the stealthy frost and fog Conspire to slay the rich-robed weeds and flowers; To strip the woods of wealth, and clog With piled-up gold of leaves the creek that cowers.

I seem to see their Spirits stand, Molded of moonlight, faint of form and face, Now reaching high a chilly hand To pluck some walnut from its spicy place:

Now with fine fingers, phantom-cold, Splitting the wahoo’s pods of rose, and thin The bittersweet’s globes of gold, To show the coal-red berries packed within:

Now on frail threads of gossamer Stringing slim pearls of moisture; necklacing The flow’rs; and spreading cobweb fur, Crystalled with stardew, over everything;

While ’neath the moon, with moon-white feet, They wander and a moon-chill music draw From thin leaf-cricket flutes--the sweet, Dim dirge of Autumn dying in the shaw.