Page:The ascent of man by Blind, Mathilde.djvu/163



breath of wind stirs in the painted leaves,
 * The meadows are as stirless as the sky,
 * Like a Saint's halo golden vapours lie

Above the restful valley's garnered sheaves. The journeying Sun, like one who fondly grieves,
 * Above the hills seems loitering with a sigh,
 * As loth to bid the fruitful earth good-bye,

On these hushed hours of luminous autumn eves. There is a pathos in his softening glow.
 * Which like a benediction seems to hover

O'er the tranced earth, ere he must sink below
 * And leave her widowed of her radiant Lover,

A frost-bound sleeper in a shroud of snow
 * While winter winds howl a wild dirge above her.