poems.
31
Of the sheep upon the hill-side,
And the merry brooklet's trill;
While the quiet air of evening
Resounds with cry of "Whip-poor-will."
And the merry brooklet's trill;
While the quiet air of evening
Resounds with cry of "Whip-poor-will."
The woods are clothed with summer's green,
And fringed with wild-flowers bright;
For here the children love to play,
By day's departing light.
And fringed with wild-flowers bright;
For here the children love to play,
By day's departing light.
Each one is happy, gay, and glad,
As twilight's hour draws on;
With hasty steps they leave the hill,
For now the day is done.
As twilight's hour draws on;
With hasty steps they leave the hill,
For now the day is done.
