A TWILIGHT POST.
Not in the noise and glare of day:
The clamour of the crowded way:
Comes any voice to me.
'Mid the harsh world's distracting hum
My heart is dull, my lips are dumb,
No dreams my soul may see.
But when afar from street and mart,
In eve's hushed hour I walk apart,
While in the paling west
The sunset fire's last smouldering brand
Sheds a faint lustre o'er the land,
To light it to its rest;
While in the zenith's deepening blue,
Some bold-eyed star has leapt to view,
First in the field of night;
Whose brightening beacon-flame inspires
A growing host of kindred fires
Soft stealing into sight;
When all the misty vale is still,
Save for the cricket's ceaseless trill,
The chorus of the vlei,
The watch-dog's bark, the low of kine,
And lesser sounds too faint and fine
For the coarse ear of day;
