ACROSS the hills the screeching blue-jays fly In countless flocks, and as they hasten by The children look up from their merry play To watch them slowly, slowly fade away; And night steals up the corners of the sky. No silent, trembling star shines there, on high; The hollow rivers, that were still and dry, Begin to murmur; falls a gentle spray Across the hills. The stubble colors through the fallen hay, And infant grasses pin the moistened clay; The drooping trees shake off their dust and sigh; And waking nature, with a gladdened eye, Beholds the summer lose its ending day, Across the hills. |