Evening in Loudoun
BY
JAMES BRANNIN
THE day is late:
One bird is on the tree.
The breezes wait,
And then, half-silently,
Make tremble the young leaves; can you still see
Some fading gold about the western gate ?
One bird is on the tree.
The breezes wait,
And then, half-silently,
Make tremble the young leaves; can you still see
Some fading gold about the western gate ?
Outside is dark,
A foul and wasted world.
The last pale spark
Of beauty dead; the curled
Black flag of greed, and all those banners furled
Men died for otherwhiles! — Hush!—hush — and hark!
A foul and wasted world.
The last pale spark
Of beauty dead; the curled
Black flag of greed, and all those banners furled
Men died for otherwhiles! — Hush!—hush — and hark!
Our little soul
Of vernal music sings!
Where is the goal
Whither so soon he wings ?
Let him go bathing in his happy springs;
There in the east is Dian’s aureole!
Of vernal music sings!
Where is the goal
Whither so soon he wings ?
Let him go bathing in his happy springs;
There in the east is Dian’s aureole!