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     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.