'\7 r OU may remember how the skies were dim, 
And all the air was full of floating shadows, 
Tall pine-trees stood upon the broad hills’ rim, 
And deep woods loomed beyond the water-meadows. 
It was your birthday—I, from overseas, 
Had come by many a vagrant path and byway, 
To rest awhile beneath your ancient trees, 
Before I sought once more the swallows’ highway. 
Still I remember—nor will you forget 
How, when beclouded in the windless weather, 
The silver phantom of the sun had set, 
Along the fields we walked and talked together. 
And all our talk went to the same good tune 
Of rare days done, of those to come thereafter, 
While up the hill-side, through the night’s still noon, 
We wandered with the white October moon, 
And listened to the owls’ delightful laughter. 
