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Like eyelids, curtain o’er the orb, whose hour 
Of sleep is well nigh come. Oh! ’tis so calm. 
So still, so holy, I could think each power 
Of sin and soitow from the earth had flown. 
And Peace, descending, claimed it for her own; 
Shedding from out her dove-like wings the balm 
Which fills the evening air. 
See, how the arrowy dragon-flies dart out! 
Now here, now there. 
They swiftly flit about; 
Restless, as if we roused them from still sleep, 
’Mid the tall river grass. Ha! what is that ? 
Start not—’tis only a poor water-rat 
Crossing the raver to his nest, that deep 
’Neath yon old willow he has burrowed out. 
See him, now, steering over;—his long tail 
Extended for a rudder ; and his route 
Leaves on the glassy stream a double trail 
/ 
Stretching out, fork-like, to the farther bank. 
Where from green rrooks of Sumrrrer foliage rank. 
Peeps Myosotis—fair “ Forget-me-not,” 
Looking with her bright blue eyes into ours. 
As though to ask, if, ’midst earth’s rainbowed bowers. 
We ever had her gentle face forgot. 
The willows and “long purples,” too, recall 
To fancy’s eye the sad and fatal spot 
Where poor Ophelia, with her coronal 
Of wild wood flow’rets, fell. 
