  I hear the bells at eventide Peal slowly one by one, Near and far off they break and glide, Across the stream float faintly beautiful The antiphonal bells of Hull; The day is done, done, done, The day is done. The dew has gathered in the flowers, Lake tears from some unconscious deep: The swallows whirl around the towers, The light runs out beyond the long cloud bars, And leaves the single stars; ’Tis time for sleep, sleep, sleep, ’Tis time for sleep. The hermit thrush begins again,— Timorous eremite— That song of risen tears and pain, As if the one he loved was far away: ‘Alas! another day—’ ‘And now Good Night, Good Night,’ ‘Good Night. |
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