Evening Closes Soft, purple hills now fade from sight, The pale moon has begun to rise; Dark clouds fray over distant fields As one late loon wings through the skies. Tall trees and bushes softly sway In zephyrs, moving without rest, While in the heavens stars appear; To God’s creation they attest. And over man’s abodes and land, Now falls a hush--the nightingale Sings out a lonely, little tune, Her drifting notes pierce evening’s veil. |
