The Mountain Lake 

 Harold Gordon Hawkins 



At dusk I stand beside a silent lake 



While shadows fall and surrounding woods partake 



Of all the mystery and grandeur of the night. 



Ah truly it is a glorious sight 



To watch the sun's last radiance die 



In darkling waters, while the sky 



Is radiant with glorious colorings. 



Softly, sweetly, a tiny woodthrush sings 



Her evening hymn; the woodland rings 



In fullness of the sound melodiously, 



While in the blackening lake all somberly 



The fir trees watch the undulating forms 



That are their doubles in the shadowy depth below. 



And now begin faint rustlings in the wood 



And all about this place where I have stood 



The last hour past. The gathering gloom 



Is startled by the bullfrog's gutteral boom 



From his nightly seat by the plashing water's edge, 



While at the hilltop on a rocky ledge 



Outlined in silhouette, an antlered deer 



Stands gracefully and shows no sign of fear. 



But now the blush of day receding fast 



In the western sky leaves me alone at last 



With night and her myriad stars, 



While on the lake in shimmering bars 



Diana's splendor shines and I 



Am lost in silent contemplation of the scene. 



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