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Oh the stern and stolid quiet at the closing of the day!
Cold and steely, and the team
Loiters homeward, and the hawthorn blooms in blood-drops, not in may;
When the harvest months are done,
And the autumn rains begun,
And the black earth reeks with odors, at the closing of the day.
Oh the dim and solemn quiet at the closing of the day!
And the wet birds come and go
Through the hedges, and white winter is already on its way; When the smoke of smouldering tares,
Loosely borne on lagging airs,
Frets the nostrils with its savor, at the closing of the day.
Oh the grim and ghostly quiet at the closing of the day!
And the trees stand close, above,
And the mounds about the churchyard lie unshadowed in
When the soul that dwells alone
Finds a sadness like its own
In the heart of Mother Nature, at the closing of the day.
Arthur Joseph Munby [1828-1910]
SONG TO THE EVENING STAR
STAR that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary laborer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou
That send'st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odors rise,
Song: To Cynthia
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard
From cottages whose smoke unstirred
Star of love's soft interviews,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.
Thomas Campbell [1777-1844]
THE EVENING CLOUD
A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun,
O'er the still radiance of the lake below.
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,
Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven, Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.
John Wilson [1785-1854]
SONG: TO CYNTHIA
From " Cynthia's Revels "
QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair,
Seated in thy silver chair,
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear, when day did close:
Goddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal-shining quiver;
Space to breathe, how short soever:
Goddess excellently bright.
Ben Jonson [1573?-1637]
ALL that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue,
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!
Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled:
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.
Robert Browning [1812-1889]
THE sun descending in the West,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
Unseen, they pour blessing,
They look in every thoughtless nest,
They visit caves of every beast,
That should have been sleeping,
When wolves and tigers howl for prey
They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful,
And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold,
Saying: "Wrath by His meckness,
And by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.
'And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep.
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
William Blake [1757-1827]
SWIFTLY walk o'er the western wave,
Out of the misty eastern cave
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,