Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/127

 OFTLY along the road of evening,
 * In a twilight dim with rose,

Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew,
 * Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.


 * His drowsy flock streams on before him,

Their fleeces charged with gold. To where the sun's last beam leans low
 * On Nod the shepherd's fold.

The hedge is quick and green with brier,
 * From their sand the conies creep;

And all the birds that fly in heaven
 * Flock singing home to sleep.

His lambs outnumber a noon's roses,
 * Yet, when night's shadows fall,

His blind old sheep-dog, Slumber-soon,
 * Misses not one of all.

His are the quiet steeps of dreamland,
 * The waters of no-more-pain,

His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars,
 * "Rest, rest, and rest again."