Now the leaves do hurl and blow
For summer’s life is ended;
Winter’s work begins to show;
The trees with his winds are bended.
Hedges all are getting black,
And grass is withering down;
Frost has left his finger-track
And spoiled the trees green gown.
And mud it gets as hard as flint,
And puddles a coat of mail,
And drops of ice like bolls of lint
Hang from the frozen kale.