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