Slender strips of crimson sky
Near the dim horizon lie,
Shot across with golden bars
Reaching to the fading stars;
Soft the balmy west wind blows
Wide the portals of the rose;
Smell of dewy pine and fir,
Lisping leaves and vines astir;
On the borders of the dark
Gayly sings the meadow-lark,
Bidding all the birds assemble, —
Hark, the heavens seem to tremble!
Suddenly the sunny gleams
Break the poppy-fettered dreams, —
Dreams of Pan, with two feet cloven,
Piping to the nymph and faun
Who with wreaths of ivy woven
Nimbly dance to greet the dawn.

Shifting shadows indistinct;
Leaves and branches, crossed and linked,
Cling like children and embrace,
Frightened at the moon's pale face:
In the gloomy wood begins
Noise of insect violins;
Swarms of fireflies flash their lamps
In their atmospheric camps,
And the sad-voiced whippoorwill
Echoes back from hill to hill,
Liquid clear above the crickets
Chirping in the thorny thickets.
Weary eyelids, eyes that weep,
Wait the magic touch of sleep;
While the dew in silence falling
Fills the air with scent of musk,
And this lonely night-bird calling
Drops a note down through the dusk.