Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Poem,
Then the summer is gone , and the harvest is ended , The reapers have gathered the glittering grain ; On upland arid lowland the snow has descended , To crown the glad earth for the winter king ' s reign ; The days growing short at the close of November *
The nights getting longer and stronger - and cold , And at sunset , the windows , like bright glowing embers , Are gleaming with rubies and diamonds and gold ; At the dead of the night , when the wind , shrilly whistling , Is piping a song for the snow and the sleet , The frost , clad in silver , all sparkling and glistening , Creeps through the still city , with , snow-muffled feet ;
When the hosts of the stars in their steely-like armour , Seem shivering sentinels set in the sky , Half nodding , then starting to hear the alarmour , Then sinking to sleep with a quivering eye . Far up in the north the red watch-fires burning , Now shoot toward the zenith , now flicker away , Till the warrior , Mars , to his cloud-tent returning , Shall change the last watchword of night to the day .
• V « ^ fe : 3 k s & ' w w w ¦ TP ' ¦ ' IP But ril tell to you a ballad Of the very olden time , In a strange and curious metre And a ringing Runic rhyme : From the bright and sunny present , To the cold , gi # y past we'll go , With its memories and traditions , In the days of long ago . They are flitting , they are flitting
Through the chambers of my brain , With their weird , fantastic figures ; They are coming back again , From the morning of our history , When grey-beard minstrels sung How they builded up the Temple In the times when earth was young
& % # # % It was autumn in the Rhine-land , And along the river side The purple grapes were hanging O'er the rippling , glassy tide , Till the very wind seemed drunken , And went sinchiff its went its
on way . Ana singing on way , Among the bending , vineyard trees , A jovial roundelay ; And then Heidelberg's old towers All in the distance stood , Like giants in the sunset , With their hair all moist with blood
And the windows seemed of silver , And the spires made of gold , While the vesper-bells were ringing A ballad-tune of old ,
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Poem,
Then the summer is gone , and the harvest is ended , The reapers have gathered the glittering grain ; On upland arid lowland the snow has descended , To crown the glad earth for the winter king ' s reign ; The days growing short at the close of November *
The nights getting longer and stronger - and cold , And at sunset , the windows , like bright glowing embers , Are gleaming with rubies and diamonds and gold ; At the dead of the night , when the wind , shrilly whistling , Is piping a song for the snow and the sleet , The frost , clad in silver , all sparkling and glistening , Creeps through the still city , with , snow-muffled feet ;
When the hosts of the stars in their steely-like armour , Seem shivering sentinels set in the sky , Half nodding , then starting to hear the alarmour , Then sinking to sleep with a quivering eye . Far up in the north the red watch-fires burning , Now shoot toward the zenith , now flicker away , Till the warrior , Mars , to his cloud-tent returning , Shall change the last watchword of night to the day .
• V « ^ fe : 3 k s & ' w w w ¦ TP ' ¦ ' IP But ril tell to you a ballad Of the very olden time , In a strange and curious metre And a ringing Runic rhyme : From the bright and sunny present , To the cold , gi # y past we'll go , With its memories and traditions , In the days of long ago . They are flitting , they are flitting
Through the chambers of my brain , With their weird , fantastic figures ; They are coming back again , From the morning of our history , When grey-beard minstrels sung How they builded up the Temple In the times when earth was young
& % # # % It was autumn in the Rhine-land , And along the river side The purple grapes were hanging O'er the rippling , glassy tide , Till the very wind seemed drunken , And went sinchiff its went its
on way . Ana singing on way , Among the bending , vineyard trees , A jovial roundelay ; And then Heidelberg's old towers All in the distance stood , Like giants in the sunset , With their hair all moist with blood
And the windows seemed of silver , And the spires made of gold , While the vesper-bells were ringing A ballad-tune of old ,