Written by Henry Farrell As the tide of mellow ebony
Blooms into the bosom of dawn In lasting ooze...the sleepy - As lay...the look of dewy fall on the lawn:
And murmur the wind! Be its hidden cast The fitful gust upon the boughs As October ripens, with its blessing in last! The sunny clime...swathing the moors:
And slowly fading the dusky veil!
Waiting patiently is the light to bathe thy eyes
Then sank the mask! The woeful of this sleepy tale...
As harvest the glowing spirit-in quietness of The skies