Oh, hush thee, Earth! Fold thou thy weary palms!
The sunset glory fadeth in the west;
The purple splendor leaves the mountain’s crest;
Gray twilight comes as one who beareth alms,
Darkness and silence and delicious calms.
Take thou the gift, O Earth! on Night’s soft breast
Lay thy tired head and sink to dreamless rest,
Lulled by the music of her evening psalms.
Cool darkness, silence, and the holy stars,
Long shadows when the pale moon soars on high,
One far, lone night-bird singing from the hill,
And utter rest from Day’s discordant jars;
O soul of mine! when the long night draws nigh
Will such deep peace thine inmost being fill?