The Crickets sang

The Crickets sang And set the Sun And Workmen finished one by one Their Seam the Day upon.

The low Grass loaded with the Dew The Twilight stood, as Strangers do With Hat in Hand, polite and new To stay as if, or go.

A Vastness, as a Neighbor, came, A Wisdom, without Face, or Name, A Peace, as Hemispheres at Home And so the Night became.