(Lines written at Cock-crow.)
Night-time and silence! O'er the brooding hill
The last faint whisper of the zephyr dies;
Meadows and trees and lanes are hushed and still,
A shroud of mist on the slow river lies;
And the tall sentry poplars silent keep
Their lonely vigil in a world of sleep.
Yea, all men sleep who toiled throughout the day
At sport or work, and had their fill of sound,
The jest and laughter that we mate with play,