And the vessels, slowly gliding

Down the river to the bay,

Show on spreading sheets of canvas

Tints that change from red to gray.

SUNSET ON THE KEKOUGHTON RIVER.

Now the brooding silence deepens,

And the scene is one of rest,

As the wrecked day drifts down grandly
To be stranded in the west,

On yon rugged coast of Cloudland
High above the village spire,
On its mighty, purple headlands
And its crags all tipped with fire.

III

THE GREENWOOD.

O, WHEN 't is summer weather,
And the yellow bee, with fairy sound,

The waters clear is humming round,
And the cuckoo sings unseen,

And the leaves are waving green,

O, then 't is sweet,

In some retreat,

To hear the murmuring dove,

With those whom on earth alone we love,

And to wind through the greenwood together.

But when 't is winter weather,

And grasses grieve,

And friends deceive,

And rain and sleet

The lattice beat,

O, then 'tis sweet

To sit and sing

Of the friends with whom, in the days of spring,

We roamed through the greenwood together.

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES