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.