Evening on the Farm

From out the hills where twilight stands,Above the shadowy pasture lands,With strained and strident cry,Beneath pale skies that sunset bands,The bull-bats fly.

A cloud hangs over, strange of shape,And, colored like the half-ripe grape,Seems some uneven stainOn heaven's azure; thin as crape,And blue as rain.

By ways, that sunset's sardonyxO'erflares, and gates the farm-boy clicks,Through which the cattle came,The mullein-stalks seem giant wicksOf downy flame.

From woods no glimmer enters in,Above the streams that, wandering, winTo where the wood pool bids,Those haunters of the dusk begin,--The katydids.

Adown the dark the firefly marksIts flight in gold and emerald sparks;And, loosened from his chain,The shaggy mastiff bounds and barks,And barks again.

Each breeze brings scents of hill-heaped hay;And now an owlet, far away,Cries twice or thrice, "T-o-o-w-h-o-o";And cool dim moths of mottled grayFlit through the dew.

The silence sounds its frog-bassoon,Where, on the woodland creek's lagoon,--Pale as a ghostly girlLost 'mid the trees,--looks down the moonWith face of pearl.

Within the shed where logs, late hewed,Smell forest-sweet, and chips of woodMake blurs of white and brown,The brood-hen cuddles her warm broodOf teetering down.

The clattering guineas in the treeDin for a time; and quietlyThe henhouse, near the fence,Sleeps, save for some brief rivalryOf cocks and hens.

A cowbell tinkles by the rails,Where, streaming white in foaming pails,Milk makes an uddery sound;While overhead the black bat trailsAround and round.

The night is still. The slow cows chewA drowsy cud. The bird that flewAnd sang is in its nest.It is the time of falling dew,Of dreams and rest.

The beehives sleep; and round the walk,The garden path, from stalk to stalkThe bungling beetle booms,Where two soft shadows stand and talkAmong the blooms.

The stars are thick: the light is deadThat dyed the west: and Drowsyhead,Tuning his cricket-pipe,Nods, and some apple, round and red,Drops over-ripe.

Now down the road, that shambles by,A window, shining like an eyeThrough climbing rose and gourd,Shows Age and young RusticitySeated at board.