A soft light mantle of rose wear the brown hills

As they look down on the valley where the rills

Spin their long silver embroideries

For the fringe of spring's greenéd draperies.

The cloud-banks recede with the fading breeze,

The warblers fall into silence in the trees

To listen to many-colored dream-melodies

That the mute stars make on sleep's endless seas.

The last light flickers out of the sky,

Shadows with golden feet o'er the green valley hie;

The silver rills trill like warblers from earth's deeps

As the moon, the sun of another dawn, heavenward leaps.

[15]

[15]

11

AT VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

The moon rises and washes the brine with silver;

The dunes like white elephants restfully asleep after the chase;

And the fog comes to bring the moon its veil of shades.

The waves stretch their phosphorescent arms

 Prev. P 16/82 next