Classic Poem

The nearest woodlands wore a misty veil;
From phantom trees we saw the last leaf float;
The hills though near us seemed to lie remote,
Wrapped in a balmy vapor, golden—pale.
From somewhere hidden in the dreamy dale—
Latona's sorrow yet within her note—
Reft of her comrades, o'er the stubbled oat
We heard the calling of the lonely quail.
In the bare corn-field stalked the silent crow;
Too faint the breeze to make the grasses sigh,
And not one carol came from out the sky;
But o'er the golden gravelly levels low,
The brook, loquacious, still went lilting by
As liquidly as Lara, long ago.