| Higginson and Bigelow, comps. American Sonnets. 1891. | | | | Frost | | By Edith Matilda Thomas (1854–1925) |
| | | HOW small a tooth hath mined the season’s heart! | |
| How cold a touch hath set the wood on fire, | |
| Until it blazes like a costly pyre | |
| Built for some Ganges emperor, old and swart, | |
| Soul-sped on clouds of incense! Whose the art | 5 |
| That webs the streams, each morn, with silver wire, | |
| Delicate as the tension of a lyre,— | |
| Whose falchion pries the chestnut-burr apart? | |
| It is the Frost, a rude and gothic sprite, | |
| Who doth unbuild the Summer’s palaced wealth, | 10 |
| And puts her dear loves all to sword or flight; | |
| Yet in the hushed, unmindful winter’s night | |
| The spoiler builds again with jealous stealth, | |
| And sets a mimic garden, cold and bright. | | | | |
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