Clinton Scollard, 1914
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
| Song Index | Home Page |