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1875–1928

Indian Summer

Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

I HAVE strayed from silent places, Where the days are dreaming always; And fair summer lies a-dying, Roses withered on her breast.

I have stolen all her beauty, All her softness, all her sweetness; In her robe of folden sunshine I am drest.

I will breathe a mist about me Lest you see my face too clearly, Lest you follow me too boldly I will silence every song.

Through the haze and through the silence You will know that I am passing; When you break the spell that holds you, I am gone!

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Indian Summer · Isabel Ecclestone Mackay · Poetry Cove