THE DOVES AT MENDON
385
A sound, a motion, a flash of wings—
They are gone—like a dream of heavenly things.
The doves have flown and the porch is still,
And the shadows gather on vale and hill.
Then sinks the sun, and the mountain breeze
Stirs in the tremulous maple-trees;
While Love and Peace, as the night comes down,
Brood over quiet Mendon!
They are gone—like a dream of heavenly things.
The doves have flown and the porch is still,
And the shadows gather on vale and hill.
Then sinks the sun, and the mountain breeze
Stirs in the tremulous maple-trees;
While Love and Peace, as the night comes down,
Brood over quiet Mendon!
