Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/86



The autumn afternoon is dying o'er The quiet western valley where I lie Beneath the maples on the river shore, Where tinted leaves, blue waters and fair sky Environ all; and far above some birds are flying by

To seek their evening haven in the breast And calm embrace of silence, while they sing Te Deums to the night, invoking rest For busy chirping voice and tired wing— And in the hush of sleeping trees their sleeping cradles swing.

In forest arms the night will soonest creep, Where sombre pines a lullaby intone, Where Nature's children curl themselves to sleep, And all is still at last, save where alone A band of black, belated crows arrive from lands unknown.

Strange sojourn has been theirs since waking day, Strange sights and cities in their wanderings blend With fields of yellow maize, and leagues away With rivers where their sweeping waters wend Past velvet banks to rocky shores, in canyons bold to end.