AT EVENTIDE

The tired breezes are tucked to rest

In the cloud-beds far away;

The waves are pressed to the placid breast

Of the dreaming, gleaming bay;

The shore line swims in a hazy heat,

Asleep in the sea and sky,

And the muffled beat where the breakers meet

Is a soft, sweet lullaby.

The pine-clad hill has a crimson crown

Of glittering sunset glows;

The roofs of brown in the distant town

Are bathed in a blush of rose;

The radiant ripples shine and shift

In shimmering shreds of gold;

The seaweeds lift and drowse and drift,

And the jellies fill and fold.

The great sun sinks, and the gray fog heaps

His cloak on the silent sea;

The night-wind creeps where the ocean sleeps,

And the wavelets wake in glee;

Across the bay, like a silver star,

There twinkles the harbor-light,

And faint and far from the outer bar

The sea-birds call “Good-night.”