Page:The whistle maker, and other poems (IA whistlemakerothe00rick).pdf/8

 

The shining clouds hang pendant
 * Along the winding lea;

The sun stands out resplendent
 * Above the tranquil sea.

The western wind moves softly,
 * Waving the tender grass,

The trees more staid and lofty
 * Scarce bend to let it pass.

The cattle down the hillside,
 * Move slowly, homeward bent:

Cooing doves and mates in pride
 * Breathe out their sweet content.

Far beyond, the sea-gulls fly
 * With curving, measured sweep;

Swallows playing, dot the sky;
 * The world prepares for sleep.

I turn, the sun more splendid,
 * Bathes land and sea in gold;

A thousand colors blended,
 * Toward the hills are rolled.

There, amethyst and violet,
 * Where green and brown held sway

With scarlet, form a triolet
 * To deck the dying day.

Down sinks the sun—the monarch
 * Of all this glorious show;

Clouds once brilliant, now are dark
 * And all is hushed below.

Uplifted heart and outstretched hand
 * Bid farewell to the sight;

I speed my steps to lower land
 * And bless the coming night.

Feb. 8, 1913. 