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.
