Broad shadows fall. On all the mountain side The scythe-swept fields are silent. Slowly home By the long beach the high-piled hay-carts come, Splashing the pale salt shallows. Over wide Fawn-coloured wastes of mud the slipping tide, Round the dun rocks and wattled fisheries, Creeps murmuring in. And now by twos and threes, O`er the slow spreading pools with clamorous chide, Belated crows from strip to strip take flight. Soon will the first star shine; yet ere the night Reach onward to the pale-green distances, The sun`s last shaft beyond the gray sea-floor Still dreams upon the Kamouraska shore, And the long line of golden villages.SourceThe script ran 0.003 seconds.
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