Frost by A. Ethelwyn Wetherald

[Иоп]

Увидел в метро вот такое замечательное стихотворение, после чего скачал книгу этой канадской поэтэссы.

When the sun is growing weaker,
And his look is meek and meeker,
Comes the frost -- the pale betrayer --
Light of foot, a stealthy slayer.

In the night abroad he stealeth,
For each trembling leaf he feeleth;
Something softened by its pleading,
Kills it not but leaves it bleeding.