Two waving willows by the river stand,
And droop their branches till they kiss the stream,
Which, by the fragrant southern breezes fanned,
Beneath the cooling shadows seems to dream.
The sun is sinking down behind the hills;
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The clouds are golden-red upon the west;
The song of robins all the silence fills:
This is the hour of day that I love best.
Between the willow-trees my hammock swings,
And from it I am looking at the glow
Of sunset, on the clouds and on the wings
Of busy swallows darting to and fro.
The stream grows glassy as the breezes die,
And on its bosom sweet reflections lie, -
The sunset glory reproduced below,
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Mr. Lawton's Reading.
