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EVENING.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

THE crimson glow has faded from the west;

Deep shadows lie along the glassy stream,

In whose cool depths green banks and daisies dream

Of green banks and of daisies which are blest

With real existence and with perfect rest,

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While they themselves are not, but only seem.

The Katydids pipe up their cheerful theme;

The bird is sleeping in her swaying nest,

And near her sighs the melancholy breeze.

The fire-flies, like lost stars, like Pleiades,

With intermittent light dart through the trees.

Sweet Venus smiles down with her calm bright eyes,

And fiery swords wave on the northern skies,

As if to guard the Aurora's Paradise.

N. H. D.

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