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.