The rime grew thick from the windward side
Of each tuft of needles, twig, and thorn;
Encased was each in hoary sheath
Against the fog of the snow-cloaked morn.
With rippled skirts, the spruces bowed,
The birch hung thick with diamond beads;
Equalled, both, by crystal teasel,
Thistles, docks, once lowly weeds.