The Day’s Best Hour.

Sweet is the Morn that deepens to a blush1
Athwart each clear-cut ridge and mountain high,2
When, on the dewy twigs, the birds all vie3
In tuneful measures with the glorious thrush !4
And deeply sweet is Noon, when every rush5
And nodding blade of grass seems full asleep ;6
When scarce a whisper through the woods doth creep,7
While distant scenes look hazy, in the hush.8
But, poet’s hour, loved Eve, whose shadow folds,9
In peace, the deeper grasses by the mere ;10
Whose crimson flame gives glory to the near,11
And dapples every height the eye beholds,12
With fervent glory fringing cape and bay :13
Thou art the sweetest, lordliest hour of Day !14