Vesper
The homeward curlew sends his whistle
shrill1
Down from a sky of saffron flecked with rose
;2
The breeze that shook the pines upon the hill3
Now lies, with folded wings, in deep repose.4
The heron, from her watch beside the stream,5
Has laboured homewards to her sheltering woods ;6
The voiceless bat flits, like a flickering dream,7
Far in the shadows where deep silence broods.8
As slow and silent onward comes still night,9
Between the sombre pines the gleaming stars10
Look kindly down, shedding their friendly light,11
Like loving eyes behind cold prison bars.12
The night-moth rises at your stealthy tread,13
And, ghost-like, deep into the darkness floats ;14
The pilgrim lark is in his grassy bed,15
And rapture’s songs have died in drowsy notes.16
The maiden’s ballad snatch, so low and sweet,17
The children’s laughter, and the flute’s soft tune,18
Have died away from out the village street19
That now lies white beneath the wandering moon.20
The old tower’s evening-bell, sweet-tongued and low,21
Throughout the listening azure, clear and calm,22
For hearts bowed down with weariness or woe,23
Sends forth its curfew, like some soothing psalm.24
The soft “ Good-night,” throughout the listening air,25
O’er dewy fields, like music, comes and goes ;26
The setting moon, the peaceful evening prayer,27
Then, over all, God’s gift of sweet repose.28