Ghosts In The Dusk

See! To the forest's darkening,
To the sound of horns that rang there,
There are the ghosts come harkening,
There are the people strange and fair.

Hear! To the sound of hunting horns
That once rang over hill and glade,
Come the shadows of unicorns
And sighing spirits lost in shade.

Smell! To the glens that once flowered,
To the streams hurrying downhill,
Come the roses once embowered,
Come the ghost-lilies of each rill.

Taste! To the air that once glimmered
With the smells of the roasting feast,
Comes the tinge of juice that shimmered
On throat, on hand, on leg of beast.

Feel! To the trees that once bristled
With boughs and needles old as years,
Comes the very wind that whistled
Around the trees, now wet with tears.

See! To the forest's hidden lairs,
Where none have lived since Robin's time,
Come the solemn funeral airs,
Comes a sweet and sorrowful clime.

Hear! To the sound of birds that sang
Songs of vision and of delights,
Come the shades of the harps that rang
In many hands on olden nights

Smell! To the glens that bloomed with life,
To the streams that eddy in pools,
Come the illusions of root-strife,
Come the pale fire of flower-jewels.

Taste! To the air that shed the hint
Of wild chive and eggs in hiding,
Come the ghosts of onion and mint,
Of earth's memory abiding.

Feel! To the trees that once snow hid
On their branches and in soft banks,
Comes slickness of icicles that slid
To earth with humans' fervent thanks.

Hearken! The dusk is still alive
With memory unto morrow,
With all the shades that softly strive
To bring  joy and pride from sorrow.