VESPER 



The heron left her watch and hit the cloud, 



And laboured homewards to her wood of pines ; 

 And, as the red west died, a wreathing shroud 



Came feeling on in weft of silver lines. 

 The laughter died out of the village street ; 



The anvil's echoes sank into the hill ; 

 The tower's challenging, low-tongued and sweet, 



A moment lingered— and the land was still. 



So gently day his mantle round him drew, 



You had not known the moment he was hid, 

 But that the shy stars, shivering wan and few. 



Crept into place. And now the cricket chid 

 The chilling hours ; and now the wanderer moon 



Moved into her blue sea with placid light, 

 And " Good-night " sighed the river's softened tune, 



And from the ether came again " Good-night." 





iar.'.;:©. /fe^.c/.^-" 



