All day an ashen light serene...

By Theodore Harding Rand

All day an ashen light serene

Has brooded o'er this longed-for scene,

Its tints and damask flush all hiding,

As if obscured by a dusky screen.

Here when a child I used to lie

For hours, and watch the clouds go by,

See the black shadows climb the mountain

Or safely ride o'er the billowy rye.

O Beauty, shy as sylvan run,

Demure as some sweet-hooded nun,

And wrapt about with grey of gloaming,

Unveil thy face to the sinking sun.