Beyond the Hills of Dream

by William Wilfred Campbell


 

Dusk


 

DOWN by the shore at even, when the waves
     Lap lightly on the reedy rims, and soft,
One trembling star, a blossom, flames aloft,
Where the sunk sun the western heaven laves
With lowest tides of day; the tired world craves
5
     For the great night that cometh brooding in,
     With draught of healing over earth’s far din,
And blessed rest that recreates and saves.
 
Far in the breathing woods the whip-poor-will
     Reiterates his plaintive note; and hark!
10
     A dusky night-hawk whirrs athwart the dark,
Haunting the shadows, till in silvern swoon,
Hunted by her own spirit, strange and still,
     Over the waters comes the wan, white moon.