Poem by Clinton Scollard

Sylvia

Sylvia's hair is like the night,
Touched with glancing starry beams;
Such a face as drifts thro' dreams,
This is Sylvia to the sight.
And the touch of Sylvia's hand
Is as light as milkweed down,
When the meads are golden brown,
And the autumn fills the land.

Sylvia:- just the echoing
Of her voice brings back to me,
From the depths of memory,
All the loveliness of spring:
Sylvia! Sylvia!
Such a face as drifts thro' dreams,
This is Sylvia to the sight.

1. The Spectral Rowers
2. Night by the Sea
3. Dawn in the Desert
4. The Mist and the Sea
5. The Hill of Maeve

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