And veils the world in mist.
The shrill-piped curlew's song
Wanders, like poesy, in distant glades;
And inexpressive notes that to eve's shades
Are fitted, pass along!
The beetle's drone is heard,
Dull, sluggish, heavy, in the dark-hued lane:
And, hark! afar, the melancholy strain
Of Echo!—twilight's bard!
At this lone hour we seek