Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/187

Rh The Faun, the Centaur harbours in you yet, Thrilling responsive to the night-fall's spell, As passing to the wizard woods you find A philtre in the drenching of the dew; And ever waking or sleeping you shall hear A soft wind blowing from behind the moon, From past the sunset, from beyond the stars, Whispering you remembrance and regret, A sweet regret, a poignant memory That once you met with Beauty face to face, And that She pass'd from you upon Her way! But what blows hither as the night-wind wakes?

The first sun-wither'd leaves come rustling down, Approaching Autumn's avant-couriers Clad in the russet of his liveries, Heralding in tumultuous Equinox.