So, good-night unto you all;
Give me your hands if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
William Shakespeare.
IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING
In the cool of the evening, when the low sweet whispers waken,
When the labourers turn them homeward, and the weary have their will,
When the censers of the roses o'er the forest-aisles are shaken,
Is it but the wind that cometh o'er the far green hill?
For they say 'tis but the sunset winds that wander through the heather,