The Night

The tired day droops, slowly waning ,

The noisy waves are now tranquil.

The sun has set, the moon is sailing

Above the world, absorbed and still.

The valley listens to the babbles

Of peaceful river in the dale.

The forest, dark and bending, slumbers

To warbling of the nightingale.

The river, listening in and fondling,

Talks with the banks in quiet hush.

And up above resounds,  a-rolling,

The merry rustle of the rush.

1910 -1912