“The sky is colored like a peacock's breast;There lingers yet one thin, chill line of goldDown where the woods their somber branches holdIn silhouette against the fading west.Dark leaves, dark earth, slow-breathing and at rest,Whence frail scents rise of dew-wet grass and mold.A single star gleams diamond-clear and cold,Like one sharp note from elfin viol wrest.This is the haunted hour,—such woods surroundGrey Merlin in his oak, adrouse with dwale;In such a gloaming once the lorn knight foundThe faery woman in the river-vale;And underneath this star long, long agoThe Dark Tower heard a lonely slug-horn blow!”Leah Bodine Drake 1941, Weird Tales, Vol. 36, p. 105 Haunted Hour
