ON wood and wave the gathering shadows fall, The trees are whispering in the twilight grey, As if one last 'good-night' they fain would say Ere darkness shrouds them in her dusty pall. Now one by one broad oak and poplar tall Melt into shade; the golden-mantled day Past the hushed lakelet softly steals away, And solemn night sits silently on all. But hark! the night-wind slowly creeping by With low, dull moan the spreading darkness fills, And slumbering nature wakes to sympathy, For one and all the oaks and poplars sigh, And floating faintly o'er the far-off hills A deep sad voice comes sobbing from the sea. |