For works with similar titles, see
Dusk.
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The misty moth-time is begun;
Trees stand like shadows in the lanes,
Birds sing their farewells to the sun,
And candles shine through cottage-panes:
And now the west glow softly wanes,
And crickets about houses run;
The sky is losing all its stains —
The night comes on, and day is done.
Repose will ease the workman's pains,
And speak to him of sleep well won:
He walks in peace along the lanes.
That have new scent now rain is done;
Stars come to full light one by one,
Between wet leaves along the lanes;
He sees them as he walks, but none
Cheer him like light through cottage panes.
Guy Roslyn.
Cassell's Magazine.
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