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Poem	'Tis eventide; the noisy brook is hushed Or murmurs only as a tired child, Worn out with play; the tangled weeds lie still Within the marshy hollow. Quaint and dark The willows bend above the brooklet's tide, Reflecting shadowy images therein. The dark-browed trees, with faces to the sky, Shut out the light that fades in crimson lines Along the western sky. And yonder shade Of purple marks the cloud, the storm-god rides In moods of angry fire. The woods are filled With wild-wood blossoms drinking in the dew. Their scented breath is sweeter than the maid's Who stands at eve and drinks in love and hope From every budding flower. All day the sun With fiery breath has held his hot, long reign; The leaves have quivered 'neath his burning gaze, And all the flowers have drooped; yet now the moon, His pale young bride, awaking from her spell Of sweet day dreams, arises in the dusky East, And sweeping back the clouds that dim her crown Of stars, floods all the world with holy light. Oh, welcome night! the flowers love their queen! Yea, better than their king, for he is fierce And warm, and drinks the jeweled dew-drops all. Her hand is cool and soothing! 'neath its spell They sink to restful slumber. Bless'd night! When all he world's asleep, and thought can fly On tireless wings from sky to sky, when, free From earthly chains, the soul immortal feels Its throbbing freedom. Bless'd night! When God looks down from every shining star, And breathes in every dew-gemmed flower, when faith From her rock-bound temple on the hills His everlasting glory sings! Oh, welcome night! Thy beauty holds the spell that wakes to life All things immortal. Crowned be thou with light Eternal as the sun whose radiance wakes the day.
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