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.