The cricket chirps beneath the stone;
The whip poor will is yet awake,
The bull-frog calls in deep, low tone.
The flowers droop their weary heads,
The leaves are nodding in the breeze;
Young birdlings sleep in downy beds;
Squirrels are resting in the trees.
The bats are flying low and high;
The fishes rest in waters deep.
The red has gone from western sky,