Littell's Living Age/Volume 150/Issue 1943/Nightfall

hush of twilight, far and wide, Falls on the green and sloping meadows; All tremulous the aspens stand, By way-worn zephyrs lightly fanned, Where the clear brooklet's mimic tide Sweeps onward to the shadows.

All day its sun-flecked ripples flow Through pastures strown with hay and clover; Through lonely glens, where alders lean To kiss the dimpled waves, unseen, And sweet wild roses blush below The brambles drooping over!

By this low bridge and moss-grown fence, In fitful mood its music tarries; While fluted beech-leaves wide dispread, And circling swallows overhead Move lightly, till each wavelet hence Some fair reflection carries.

Up the broad shoulders of the hills Soft twilight shadows climb and darken; But on their faces, westward set, A smile of sunset trembles yet, And there a throstle sings, and thrills The world below to hearken!

Far off the cuckoo's plaintive call, Scarce separate from the silence lingers; In shadowland the blossoms sleep, Where white-robed mists arise to keep Their nightly watch, caressing all With silent, dewy fingers.

The stars peep forth, the afterglow Fades slowly out behind the larches; The birds are hushed — save one that seems To chirp a little in his dreams — When outcast breezes faintly blow Adown the woodland arches.

The ripples vanish, seaward drawn; The flowers in sleep their perfume render; So nightly round each darkening slope, The light is sown in patient hope, That the rich harvest of the dawn May rise in golden splendor!