Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/92



A stream of tender gladness, Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies; Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies In mystic rings, Where softly swings The music of a thousand wings That almost tones to sadness.

Midway 'twixt earth and heaven, A bubble in the pearly air, I seem To float upon the sapphire floor, a dream Of clouds of snow, Above, below, Drift with my drifting, dim and slow, As twilight drifts to even.

The little fern-leaf, bending Upon the brink, its green reflection greets, And kisses soft the shadow that it meets With touch so fine, The border line The keenest vision can't define; So perfect is the blending.