DUSK IN THE WOODS.

Three miles of hill it is; and I

Came through the woods that waited, dumb,

For the cool Summer dusk to come;

And lingered there to watch the sky

Up which the gradual sunset clomb.

A tree-toad quavered in a tree;

And then a sudden whip-poor-will

Called overhead, so wildly shrill,

The startled woodland seemed to see

How very lone it was and still.

Then through dark boughs its stealthy flight

An owl took; and, at sleepy strife,

The cricket turned its fairy fife;

And through the dead leaves, in the night,

Soft rustlings stirred of unseen life.

And in the punk-wood everywhere

The inserts ticked, or bored below

The rotted bark; and, glow on glow,

The gleaming fireflies here and there

Lit up their Jack-o’ - lantern show.

I heard a vesper-sparrow sing,

Withdrawn, it seemed, into the far

Slow sunset's tranquil cinnabar;

The sunset, softly smouldering

Behind gaunt trunks, with its one star.

A dog barked; and down ways, that gleamed,

Through dew and clover faint the noise

Of cow-bells moved. And then a voice,

That sang a-milking, so it seemed,

Made glad my heart as some glad boy's.

And then the lane; and full in view

A farmhouse with a rose-grown gate,

And honeysuckle paths, await

For night's white moon and love and you —

These are the things that made me late.