The Argosy — page 188: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

176 A REVERIE. THE glory of a summer moon Shed all her silver on the night, On woods that wore the wealth of June, And lordly turrets tipped with light ; < A hush was in the hazelbrake, _ And if a murmur met the ear, ’Twas where the lily-fleeted lake Dashed foaming down the whitened weir. A manytinted iris spanned The mc+s-greened gulf and lichens grey ;- Dark cedar groves on either hand, Were sprinkled with the opal spray ; A mist from off the pine-clad hills Stole like a sheef ctre by ; The dewy breath of dalftdils Came from a kine-cropPed pasture nigh. An aspen on the terrace walk Found not a breath to fan its leaves ; The night is still; no spirits talk Beneath the ivied arbour eaves ; The sighing of the reeds, at most, Was all the listener could discern, Although he knew an antlered host Was ambushed in the scented fern. The night is still, all nature sleeps, Her tent the turquoise-tinted skies ; Few stars are forth—the azure deeps Unveil them not to mortal eyes ; A solemn Presence seems to pass Along the silent realms of space ; Unseen, unheard, unknown, alas ! To beings of a fallen race. I passed from out the festive halls To gaze upon a fairer scene, And linger on the loopholed walls, Where musingly I loved to lean ; To commune with the quiet night, And yield to its entrancing power, And, pacing the embattled height, Breathe all the beauty of the hour. Linpon MEapows, comicbooks.com