Page:Dora Sigerson Shorter - New Poems.djvu/39

 At night when she doth rest From all her laughing hours, And plays in dreamy vales With everlasting flowers.

I hear the withered leaves Beat loud upon the pane, "Save us," they screaming cry— "We shall not live again!"

What grief within my breast Beats to the tapping call? Deep in my heart I hear The rustling of their fall.