|
The humid
summer day had taken flight,
Over the western hills
encrimsoned crest,
Behind the God drawn curtain
of the night.
The placid lake in slumber
lay at rest,
A burnished mirror with an
ebon frame
Of dark tree shadows, silver
filigreed
With lustre from the
half-grown moon's white
flame,
And sheen of moonlight
covered all the mead.
Dear
friends, there will be other
silver nights
To cast this night into
oblivion's flood;
But still, years hence,
time's reminiscent lights
May gild the rustic bridge
whereon we stood,
The silence, deep as life,
the words we spake,
The friendships formed
beside Hiwassee Lake.
|
