Autumn Frost

The morning sun shows like a pillar Of fire through smoke on frosty days. As on a faulty snap, it cannot Make out my features in the haze. The distant trees will hardly see me Until the sun at last can break Out of the fog, and flash triumphant Upon the meadows by the lake. A passer-by in mist receding Is recognized when he has passed. You walk on hoarfrost-covered pathways As though on mats of plaited bast. The frost is covered up in gooseflesh, The air is false like painted cheeks, The earth is shivering, and sick of Breathing potato-stalks for weeks.