THE CLOSE OF DAT- 

 LAKE KATADIN 



The shadows now are purpling 

 The crest of distant hills ; 

 The Crimson God is wearied. 

 But Evenings quiet thrills. 



The Loons begin their calling ; 

 The Owl his challenge sends ; 

 The Deer in coves are feeding, 

 Where the long lake-line bends. 



Upon its burnished surface, 

 The tall pines seem to glow, 

 As on that limpid mirror, 

 Their outlines ebb and flow. 



Birches and brush reflecting, 

 A shore seems not to be, 

 And fiery clouds, mirage-like, 

 Change hues while yet they flee. 



A serenade is warbled 

 By tiny singer true; 

 And at a touch of twilight, 

 Dense grows the vein of blue. 



Upon the mountain summit, 

 There lingers yet a flame, — 

 The kiss of Sunset's parting — 

 How soft from Heaven, came. 



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