November Morning

by 

Evaleen Stein (20th. Century American)

A tingling, misty marvel
  Blew hither in the night,
And now the little peach-trees
  Are clasped in frozen light. 


Upon the apple-branches
  An icy film is caught,
With trailing threads of gossamer
  In pearly patterns wrought. 


The autumn sun, in wonder,
  Is gayly peering through
This silver-tissued network
  Across the frosty blue. 


The weather-vane is fire-tipped,
  The honeysuckle shows
A dazzling icy splendor,
  And crystal is the rose. 


Around the eaves are fringes
  Of icicles that seem
To mock the summer rainbows
  With many-colored gleam. 


Along the walk, the pebbles
  Are each a precious stone;
The grass is tasseled hoarfrost,
  The clover jewel-sown. 


Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle
  Fills all the frosty air,
Oh, can it be that darkness
  Is ever anywhere!