Page:Songs and Sonnets (1906).djvu/20

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The changing hillside, wrapped in dreams, With softest opalescent gleams, Like some ethereal vision seems,
 * Outlined against the sky;

The fields that gave the harvest gold— Afar before our eyes unrolled In purple distance, fold on fold—
 * Lovely and tranquil lie.

We linger by the crimson vine, Steeped to the heart with fragrant wine, And where the rowan-berries shine,
 * And gentians lift their blue;

We stay to hear the wind that grieves Among the oak's crisp, russet leaves, And watch the moving light, that weaves
 * Quaint patterns, peering through.

The fires that in the maples glow, The rapture that the beeches know, The smoke-wraiths drifting to and fro,
 * Each season more endears;

Vague longings in the heart arise, A dimming mist comes to the eyes That is not sadness, though it lies
 * Close to the place of tears.