The clouds pile up their largess tenderly
As if to clothe the beauty of the sea
In filmy gossamer and soft brocade.
And far away I think I almost hear
A horn’s faint echo through the dusk-hour’s veil
As in the happy, golden days of yore—
Mayhap, e’en now upon this magic mere
Frail shallops will flit by and mermaids pale
Will lure us back to fairy-land once more!