Page:This Canada of ours and other poems.djvu/16

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been validated.

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.