He loved the ever deepening brown 

 Of summer twilights on the enchanted hills ; 

 Where he might listen to the starts and thrills 

 Of birds that sang and rustled in the trees, 

 Or watch the footsteps of the wandering breeze, 

 And the bird's shadows as they fluttered by, 

 Or slowly wheeled across the unclouded sky. 



Kichard Watson Gilder. 



