Only from throbbing river rose no song
Blending its music with life’s murmuring throng.
III.
Day closed, and busy life lay down to rest.
A shade that moved not held in cold embrace
The yielding meadows and the hills’ calm face,
About whose silence burned the cloudless west.
No leafy murmur rose from darkening wood,
Hushed the pure gladness of the robins’ trill;
Called from low covert some lone whip-poor-will