Evening

  From upland slopes I see the cows file by,
  Lowing, great-chested, down the homeward trail,
  By dusking fields and meadows shining pale
  With moon-tipped dandelions. Flickering high,
  A peevish night-hawk in the western sky
  Beats up into the lucent solitudes,
  Or drops with griding wing. The stilly woods
  Grow dark and deep, and gloom mysteriously.
  Cool night winds creep, and whisper in mine ear.
  The homely cricket gossips at my feet.
  From far-off pools and wastes of reeds I hear,
  Clear and soft-piped, the chanting frogs break sweet
  In full Pandean chorus. One by one
  Shine out the stars, and the great night comes on.