June in Oepping, Upper Austria

I love the hour that comes, with dusky hair. And dewy feet, along the Alpine dells. To lead the cattle forth. A thousand bells .Go chiming after her across the fair .And flowery uplands, while the rosy flare .Of sunset on the snowy mountain dwells, And valleys darken, and the drowsy spells. Of peace are woven through the purple air. Dear is the magic of this hour: she seems. To walk before the dark by falling rills, And lend a sweeter song to hidden streams; She opens all the doors of night, and fills. With moving bells the music of my dreams, That wander far among the sleeping hills. H. Dake Dyke

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