EVENING ON THE FARM
From out the hills where twilight stands, Above the shadowy pasture-lands, With strained and strident cry, Beneath pale skies that sunset bands, The bull bats fly. A cloud hangs over, strange of shape, And, colored like the half-ripe grape, Seems some uneven stain On heaven s azure, thin as crape, And blue as rain. Byways, that sunset s sardonyx O erflares, and gates the farm-boy clicks, Through which the cattle came, The mullein s stalks seem giant wicks Of downy flame. From woods no glimmer enters in, Above the streams that, wandering, win From out the violet hills, Those haunters of the dusk begin, The whippoorwills. Adown the dark the firefly marks Its flight in golden-emerald sparks; And, loosened from its chain, The shaggy watchdog bounds and barks, And barks again.
