Mild the mist upon the hill
Mild
the
mist
upon
the
hill
Telling
not
of
storms
tomorrow;
No,
the
day
has
wept
its
fill,
Spent
its
store
of
silent
sorrow.
O,
I'm
gone
back
to
the
days
of
youth,
I
am
a
child
once
more,
And
'neath
my
father's
sheltering
roof
And
near
the
old
hall
door
I
watch
this
cloudy
evening
fall
After
a
day
of
rain;
Blue
mists,
sweet
mists
of
summer
pall
The
horizon's
mountain
chain.
The
damp
stands
on
the
long
green
grass
As
thick
as
morning's
tears,
And
dreamy
scents
of
fragrance
pass
That
breathe
of
other
years.
