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A gypsy flame is on the hearth, Sign of this carnival of mirth. Through the dun fields and from the glade Flash merry folk in masquerade — It is the witching Hallowe'en.

Pale tapers glimmer in the sky, The dead and dying leaves go by; Dimly across the faded green Strange shadows, stranger shades, are seen— It is the mystic Hallowe'en.

Soft gusts of love and memory Beat at the heart reproachfully; The lights that burn for those who die Were flickering low, let them flare high— It is the haunting Hallowe'en.

in Harper's Weekly Oct. 30, 1909.