In The Cool Of The Evening

I thought I heard Him calling. Did you hear

A sound, a little sound? My curious ear

Is dinned with flying noises, and the tree

Goes — whisper, whisper, whisper silently

Till all its whispers spread into the sound

Of a dull roar. Lie closer to the ground,

The shade is deep and He may pass us by.

We are so very small, and His great eye,

Customed to starry majesties, may gaze

Too wide to spy us hiding in the maze;

Ah, misery! the sun has not yet gone

And we are naked: He will look upon

Our crouching shame, may make us stand upright

Burning in terror — O that it were night!

He may not come . . . what! listen, list now —

He is here! lie closer . . . Adam, where art thou?