Page:The whistle maker, and other poems (IA whistlemakerothe00rick).pdf/13

 

When the sun is sinking slow
 * Behind the mountains blue and white,

And the mist upon the town is falling low; When the mocker's sleepy note Seem to stifle in his throat—
 * Then to us in California, it is night.

When the Mission's chapel bell
 * Is ringing out calm and clear and light;

And the padre's gentle Ave seems to swell, Till the nightingale's sweet song Seems the beauty to prolong—
 * Then to us in California, it is night.

When the 'cacia's scented flower
 * And the orange blossom white

Seem to lend a subtle fragrance to the hour. When the palm tree's gentle sigh Breathes a tale of days gone by—
 * Then to us in California, it is night.

Nov. 1902. 