Then all grew still
O’er vale and hill
And the echo came back:
“You can, if you will.”
The sun poured forth his flood of pure gold
On Nature’s great chorister birdlings of old,
When wide circling throngs made the welkin resound
With the liveliest chatter, “Let joy go round.”
Then flashed through the air a ruby tinged light,
Like an arrow of glory soon lost to my sight.