"A tingling, misty marvel
Blew hither in the night,
And now the little peach trees
Are clasped in frozen light.

Upon the apple branches
An icy film is caught,
With trailing threads of gossamer
In pearly patterns wrought.

The autumn sun, in wonder,
Is gayly peering through
This silver-tissued network
Across the frosty blue.

The weather-vane is fire tipped,
The honeysuckle shows,
A dazzling icy splendour,
And crystal is the rose".
"November comes
And November goes
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing
And earth sinks to rest
Until next Spring.
Clyde Watson.