Ochil Idylls and Other Poems by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |
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SUMMER GLOAMING IN GLENEAGLES. |
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 | Ochil Idylls and Other Poems |  |
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SUMMER GLOAMING IN GLENEAGLES.
Now what is this charm that's a-weaving,
That stirs in my pulse and my hair?
Is it an angel that's cleaving
The deeps of the darkening air?
That stirs in my pulse and my hair?
Is it an angel that's cleaving
The deeps of the darkening air?
There's a spell on the hour!—Ah, the new moon—
How did she get into the sky?—
So shyly her splendour assuming!
That was a bat that flew by.
How did she get into the sky?—
So shyly her splendour assuming!
That was a bat that flew by.
There's peace in the dome of heaven's temple,
The pulse of the air is at rest;
The pool shows no longer a dimple,
The blue dove dreams on her nest.
The pulse of the air is at rest;
The pool shows no longer a dimple,
The blue dove dreams on her nest.
Whence—caught in the calm of the gloaming—
Whence came the enchantment I see?
Is it a maid that was roaming,
Took fright, and was changed to a tree?
Whence came the enchantment I see?
Is it a maid that was roaming,
Took fright, and was changed to a tree?
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In leaf and in twig she is hearkening,
She is holding her breath lest I hear!
Still deepens between us the darkening,
And now—she escapes with her fear!
She is holding her breath lest I hear!
Still deepens between us the darkening,
And now—she escapes with her fear!
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