Page:This Canada of ours and other poems.djvu/16
Like a wail of distress from the water;
The night-hawk replies from the hill,
And there floats from a far-away thicket
The plaint of the lone whip-poor-will.
The sunset has melted in silver,
The crimsons have faded to grey,
And softly, in silence and shadow,
Night falls on the beautiful bay.