62
THE HILLS
Is filmed with the twilight, and the rill
Shines like a scimitar upon the hill.
And moonbeams drooping thro' the coloured wood
Are full of little people wingéd white.
I'll wander thro' the moon-pale solitude
That calls across the intervening night
With river voices at their utmost height,
Sweet as rain-water in the blackbird's flute
That strikes the world in admiration mute.
