“But what is it?” you ask. “Give me its formula.” I cannot. Yet you need it and will get it—something that cannot be had of the day, something that Matthew Arnold comes very near suggesting in his lines:—
The evening comes, the fields are still.
The tinkle of the thirsty rill,
Unheard all day, ascends again;
Deserted is the half-mown plain,
Silent the swaths! the ringing wain,
The mower’s cry, the dog’s alarms
All housed within the sleeping farms!
The business of the day is done,
The last-left haymaker is gone.