I THE air falls chill; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the hill: The dusk grows dense, The silence tense; And, lo, the katydids commence. II Through shadowy rifts Of woodland, lifts The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, While left and right The fireflies' light Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night. III O Cloudland, gray And level, lay Thy mists across the face of Day! At foot and head, Above the dead, O Dews, weep on uncomforted! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FARRAGUT by WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH SONNET: FOR INSPIRATION by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI HOME THOUGHTS FROM FRANCE by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE FLORIDA ORANGE by W. C. BAUGH SPEAK OF THE NORTH by CHARLOTTE BRONTE |