In the forest shadows dim The birds now sing an evening hymn In tones so soft and clear and sweet; Their sweet sublimity complete. The crickets chirp low on the hill, The sound of grinding at the mill Has ceased, and in the twilight gray The miller wends his homeward way. Slowly, in geometric line, O'er meadows come the lowing kine; Soft and gentle zephyrs blow, Along the roadside fire-flies glow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHERE MY BOOKS GO by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE CHRONICLE; A BALLAD by ABRAHAM COWLEY HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: THE MARSHES OF GLYNN by SIDNEY LANIER THE WORLD'S DESIRE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET BODY AND SOUL: A METAPHYSICAL ARGUMENT by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |