Envoi
P B H Lyon
Earth puts her colours by,
And veils her in one whispering cloak of shadow;
Green goes from the meadow;
Red leaves and flowers and shining pools are shrouded;
A few stars sail upon a windy sky,
And the moon is clouded.
The delicate music, traced
In and out of the soft lights and the laughter,
Is hushed, round ledge and rafter
The last faint echoes into silence creeping:
The harp is mute, the violins encased,
And the singers sleeping.
So, now my songs are done,
Leave me to night awhile and the starlight gleaming,
To silence and sweet dreaming,
Here where no music calls, no beauty shakes me;
Till in my heart the birds sing to the sun
And the new dawn wakes me.
