Hannah F. Gould

The Frost looked forth on a 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 dressed With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast Of the quivering lake, he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The glittering point of many a spear Which he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the window of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the morning light were seen Most beautiful things!—there were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; There were cities and temples and towers; and these All pictured in silvery sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair— He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare, “Now, just to set them a-thinking, I’ll bite this basket of fruit,” said he, “And this costly pitcher I’ll burst in three! And the glass of water they’ve left for me, Shall ‘tchick’ to tell them I’m drinking.”