Frost in the night

Now, while the moon's ghost still haunts the hill,
Let us creep softly forth without a sound,
Chiding our very breath that it be still
And not betray us to the watchful hound;
Far there is that within the darkness hid
Which has not yet been seen by any dawn,
From house bright, eye the old and wrinkled lid
Of night drifts back to find the wizard gone;
And nothing of his magic left, alas,
To prove so still a thing was not a dream
 Except a shard of crystal in the grass,
A silver reed abandoned by a stream,
And no thing more to tell at what a cast
Beauty was purchased from the secret frost.

 ELIZABETH-ELLEN LONG.