The wind comes down before the creeping night And you, my love, are hid within the green Long grasses; and the dusk steals up between Each leaf, as through the shadow quick with fright The startled hare leaps up and out of sight. The hedges whisper in their loaded boughs Where warm birds slumber, pressing wing to wing, All pulsing faintly, like a muted string Above us where we weary of our vows— And hidden underground the soft moles drowse. |