In the Cool of the Evening
In the cool of the evening, when the low sweet whispers waken,When the labourers turn them homeward, and the weary have their will,When the censers of the roses o'er the forest-aisles are shaken,Is it but the wind that cometh o'er the far green hill?
For they say 'tis but the sunset winds that wander through the heather,Rustle all the meadow-grass and bend the dewy fern;They say 'tis but the winds that bow the reeds in prayer together,And fill the shaken pools with fire along the shadowy burn.
In the beauty of the twilight, in the Garden that He loveth,They have veiled His lovely vesture with the darkness of a name!Thro' His Garden, thro' His Garden it is but the wind that moveth,No more; but O, the miracle, the miracle is the same!
In the cool of the evening, when the sky is an old storySlowly dying, but remembered, ay, and loved with passion still,Hush!... the fringes of His garment, in the fading golden glory,Softly rustling as He cometh o'er the far green hill.
Words in this poem
- waken v. i.
- To wake; to cease to sleep; to be awakened. [OE. waknen, AS. wæcnan; akin to Goth. gawaknan. See Wake, v. i.]
- homeward a.
- Being in the direction of home; as, the homeward way.
- rustle v. i.
- To make a quick succession of small sounds, like the rubbing or moving of silk cloth or dry leaves. [AS. hristlan to rustle; or cf. Sw. rusta to stir, make a riot, or E. rush, v.]
- veiled a.
- Covered by, or as by, a veil; hidden.
- fading n.
- An Irish dance; also, the burden of a song.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
In the Cool of the Evening is in the public domain. This text is taken from Collected Poems: Volume One, Project Gutenberg ebook #30501; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Alfred Noyes, In the Cool of the Evening, in Collected Poems, Volume One (1913), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #30501, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/noyes-collected/in-the-cool-of-the-evening.html, id L21498.
Form and metre
In the Cool of the Evening is 16 lines in 4 stanzas of 4 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABAB. The metre is trochaic octameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 83%).
See other poems in trochaic octameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABAB wakenA · willB · shakenA · hillB
- 2 ABAB heatherA · fernB · togetherA · burnB
- 3 ABAB lovethA · nameB · movethA · sameB
- 4 ABAB storyA · stillB · gloryA · hillB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against trochaic octameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| In the cool of the evening, when the low sweet whispers waken, | 15 | ·····/˘····/˘/˘ |
| When the labourers turn them homeward, and the weary have their will, | 16 | ·······/˘··/˘··· |
| When the censers of the roses o'er the forest-aisles are shaken, | 16 | ··/˘··/˘··/˘··/˘ |
| Is it but the wind that cometh o'er the far green hill? | 13 | ······/˘····· |
| For they say 'tis but the sunset winds that wander through the heather, | 16 | ······/···/˘··/˘ |
| Rustle all the meadow-grass and bend the dewy fern; | 13 | /˘··/·····/˘· |
| They say 'tis but the winds that bow the reeds in prayer together, | 15 | ············˘/˘ |
| And fill the shaken pools with fire along the shadowy burn. | 16 | ···/˘··/˘˘/·/˘˘· |
| In the beauty of the twilight, in the Garden that He loveth, | 16 | ··/˘··/···/˘···· |
| They have veiled His lovely vesture with the darkness of a name! | 16 | ···˘·/˘/˘··/˘··· |
| Thro' His Garden, thro' His Garden it is but the wind that moveth, | 16 | ··/˘··/˘········ |
| No more; but O, the miracle, the miracle is the same! | 15 | ·····/˘˘·/˘˘··· |
| In the cool of the evening, when the sky is an old story | 15 | ·····/˘······/˘ |
| Slowly dying, but remembered, ay, and loved with passion still, | 16 | /˘/˘·˘/˘˘····/˘· |
| Hush!... the fringes of His garment, in the fading golden glory, | 16 | ··/˘··/˘··/˘/˘/˘ |
| Softly rustling as He cometh o'er the far green hill. | 13 | /˘/˘··/˘····· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.