New Journal (The Confessor)

From The Twenties, Edmund Wilson

"Beside the read stood the dry skeletons of Queen Anne's vanished lace; the bleached crests of the thistles had commenced to scatter and the milkweed pods were splitting and strewing the air with spun silver. The air, which was not yet harsh with winter filled the throat like cold wine. And though the golden vesture of the tress had begun to wear thin and dull, they gave the landscape everywhere a toned and faded richness. At night, the frosty moon filled up the world, as if by some liquid, with a bluish gray light which just seemed to bring out the green of the grass with a faint silver luminosity, and, int eh morning, one saw on the fields the whitish bloom of the frost."