James Riley

SWEET bird of twilight’s hour! when all is still,

And cool gray shadows close the scene of song,

Then to the full round moon, all clear and strong,

Thou soundest out thy lay beside some rill

Where Nature, thousand-tongued, all day did thrill

June with her rosy bowers, which now belong

To thee! where to the many-twinkling stars thou long

Hast all thy inmost soul-life piped, until,

Enraptured, even Melancholy to thee yields

Her cypress crown, that shadows all the plains.

Sing on, O bird of eve! Let hills and streams

Where Silence rests on the dew-jewelled fields

List long unto thy sweet, mellifluous strains,

While in the west pale Evening sits and dreams.