Poem By Radclyffe Hall
Without what desolation! mist and rain,
And weeping trees, and roses that decay
While still in blossom, till the autumn day
Lies low, and speechless, and benumbed with pain.
An early twilight hyies the gentle plain
With mournful dusk, while meadows melt away
Like echoes of those tunes we used to play,
Ere time had turned them to a lost refrain.
But leave the window, turn towards the room,
So soft with firelight on the time-worn beams
A friendly spirit lurks within the gloom
Of dim oak corners, while a host of gleams
Await your fingers on our fancy's loom,
To weave them into happy fireside dreams.