White From Her Chrysalis Of Cloud, The Moth-Like Moon Swings Upward Through The Night; And All The Bee-Like Stars That Crowd The Hollow Hive Of Heav'N Wane In Her 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 Of Wealth The Woods, 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 Balls O' Gold, To Show The Coal-Red Berries Packed Within: Now On Dim Threads Of Gossamer Stringing Pale Pearls Of Moisture; Necklacing The Flow'Rs; And Spreading Cobweb Fur, Crystaled With Stardew, Over Everything: While 'Neath The Moon, With Moon-White Feet, They Go And, Chill, A Moon-Soft Music Draw From Wan Leaf-Cricket Flutes The Sweet, Sad Dirge Of Autumn Dying In The Shaw.