WHITE CLOVER. 



The lights are fading from the west, 

 The night has brought a dreamy rest, 

 And deep in yonder wood is heard 

 The sudden singing of a bird, 

 While here an evening wind has stirred 

 A slope set thick with clover. 



The fields have lost their lingering light, 

 The path is dusky thro the night, 

 The clover is too sweet to lose 

 Her fragrance with the gathering dews, 



The skies are warm above her: 

 The cricket pipes his song again, 

 The cows are waiting in the lane, 

 The shadows fall adown the hill, 

 And silent is the whippoorwill ; 

 But thro the summer twilight still 



You smell the milk-white clover. 



The glory of the day has ceased, 

 The moon has risen in the east, 

 The distant hills, the meadows near, 

 Are bathed in moonlight soft and clear, 



That vails the landscape over ; 



60 



