The Frost looked forth one still, clear night,

And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight;

So, through the valley, and over the height,

In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go on like that blustering train,

The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,

That make such a bustle and noise in vain,

But I'll be as busy as they!"

So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest;

He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest

With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast

Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear

The downward point of many a spear

That he hung on its margin, far and near,

Where a rock could rear its head.

- Excerpt from "Jack Frost" by Hannah F. Gould.