A Hill Song.

Hills where once my love and I Let the hours go laughing by! All your woods and dales are sad,— You have lost your Oread. Falling leaves! Silent woodlands! Half your loveliness is fled. Golden-rod, wither now! Winter winds, come hither now! All the summer joy is dead. There's a sense of something gone In the grass I linger on. There's an under-voice that grieves In the rustling of the leaves. Pine-clad peaks! Rushing waters! Glens where we were once so glad! There's a light passed from you, There's a joy outcast from you,— You have lost your Oread.