By Ruth Margaret
Muskrat
In
the hush of the dusk when the first star shines
Out
over the rim of the West.
And
the dim outlines of the oaks and the pines
Show
bare, of their leaves undressed;
Up
through the valley and over the hill
The
fairies troop, while a waking thrill
Steals
through the wood, its peace to enhance
As
the orchestra plays for the fairies' dance
A
medley of notes from the pipes of Pan.
The
Jar Flies, the gay Jar Flies
Humming
and drumming their ceaseless cries;
Playing
their notes for the fairies' glee,
Singing
their songs to that gay galaxy,
While
in undertones the druid oak sighs
Of
the songs that you sang to me.
Somehow
the song of the gay Jar Flies
Makes
me think of my love for you;
And
I see your eyes, like the clear blue skies
With
the starlight of love shining through:
I
hear your voice with its fluting chime;
I
feel your hand steal into mine;
And
we slip away through the valley dim
With
careful step lest we tread on the hem
Of
the fairy queen's robe as she glides through the wood
Keeping
time to the song of the Jar Flies
The
rollicking song of the Jar Flies.
The
Jar Flies, the gay Jar Flies,
Humming
and drumming their ceaseless cries,
Playing
their notes for the fairies' glee,
Singing
their songs to that gay galaxy,
While
in undertones the druid oak sighs
Of
the songs that you sang to me.
This
is the song that the Jar Flies sing
When
the leaves begin to fall,
Full
of the swing and the reckless ring
Of
the last mad frolic before the pall
Of
Winter falls over the world.
But
into it all a note is hurled
Like
the sobbing note of a choking breath,
A
note that is sad with the sadness of death;
For
these are the heralds of Autumn,
These
gay little singers of death:
The
Jar Flies, the gay Jar Flies,
Humming and drumming their ceaseless cries;
Playing
their notes for the fairies' glee,
Singing
their songs to that gay galaxy,
While
in undertones the druid oak sighs
Of
the songs that you sang to me.
The
leaves that are scarlet and yellow and gold
So
soon to fall to the mouldering earth
Shiver
and sigh as the night grows cold
And
the song sings forth of death.
And
I, in my fancy, reach out to you,
To
hold you firm lest you go too,
But
your hand is gone that stole into mine
And
your eyes that shone like the first star shine
Have
gone with the fairies too--
And
I am alone with only my dream,
My
wondrous dream of you
While
the Jar Flies, the gay Jar Flies,
Humming and drumming their ceaseless cries;
Playing
their notes for the fairies' glee,
Singing
their songs to that gay galaxy,
While
in undertones the druid oak sighs
Of
the songs that you sang to me.