Waiting in the Twilight.
Slowly from the western hill-sides
Fades the sunset's ruddy light,
While the birds amid the tree-tops
Softly chirp their sweet "Good-night."
Where the elm trees' spreading branches
Hide the streamlets with their shades,
Stands the fair-faced, blue-eyed Dolly,
Flower of all the village maids,—
Looking, in the growing twilight,
Towards the grassy fields ahead,
Listening still, with eye expectant,
For the ever-welcome tread.
From across the verdant meadow
Comes a whistle, loud and shrill,
Sounding through the evening stillness,
Seemeth but the whip-poor-will.
But the fair face glows still brighter,
And the eyes more eager grow,
As the notes come near and nearer,
Louder than the streamlet's flow.
Soon she hears the well-known music
Of his voice, borne on the air:
"Don't you hear me coming, Dolly?
Dolly, dear, I'll soon be there."
And the one she's long been waiting,
Hat upraised, now comes in sight,
Hastening towards the blue-eyed maiden,
Waiting in the soft twilight.
Happy hearts, so young and trusting,
May no frost e'er blight your love,
But may blessings all unnumbered
Fall upon you from above!
