Yet when full day declares itself, 'tis then
I search for thee in vain.—Noises afright,—
And away thou goest far beyond our ken:
Methinks, some distant woodland to delight
And charm into sweet echoes with thy song.
But when the sunset's after-glow has dyed
The sky in saffron tints and rose and gold,
And in the twilight sleeps a cooling breeze,
He's back again to grace the evening hour.—
He sits atilt within a tree and sings:
Into the gloaming steals his minstrel lay—
His evening hymn to God.—And when at last
His benediction falls so soft, I feel
A strange regret, that makes my eyes to swim
In tears . . . . . . . . . .
I search for thee in vain.—Noises afright,—
And away thou goest far beyond our ken:
Methinks, some distant woodland to delight
And charm into sweet echoes with thy song.
But when the sunset's after-glow has dyed
The sky in saffron tints and rose and gold,
And in the twilight sleeps a cooling breeze,
He's back again to grace the evening hour.—
He sits atilt within a tree and sings:
Into the gloaming steals his minstrel lay—
His evening hymn to God.—And when at last
His benediction falls so soft, I feel
A strange regret, that makes my eyes to swim
In tears . . . . . . . . . .
34
