Evening

I

The birds have hid, the winds are low,

The brake is awake, the grass aglow:

The bat is the rover,

No bee on the clover,

The day is over

And evening come.

The heavy beetle spreads her wings,

The toad has the road, the cricket sings:

The bat is the rover,

No bee on the clover,

The day is over

And evening come.

II

Now is Light, sweet mother, down the west,

With little Song upon her breast;

She took him up, all tired with play,

And fondly bore him far away.

While he sleeps, one wanders in his stead,

A fainter glory round her head;

She follows happy waters after,

Leaving behind low, rippling laughter.

III

The bird is silent overhead,

The beast has laid him down;

The neighbored marbles watch the dead,

The steeple guards the town.

The south winds feel their doubtful course

Toward sweet in thickets found;

The leaves reveal the faltering force

'Twixt silentness and sound.