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Show I Thoold byways are still these days Undor the golden moon, And through tho trees the evening even-ing breeze Plays a quiet tune. The blossoms drift and softly sift Down through the scarlet boughs, Tho bright leaves spell the summer's knell, Dying as they drowse. Tho heart runs o'er dreams now no more ( Of summer's happy days, That in their flight touched with lovo's light Have fled down soundless ways. And memory with shining key Locks in tho happy heart With gentle prayer bright trea sure there Nover to depart. The old byways are still these , days , Under the hussy moon, And through the trees tho evening even-ing breoao Plas a quiet tune. A. W. Peach. |
