Early Poems (1859-70). The Earth Laments for Day
There's music wafting on the air, The evening winds are sighing Among the trees—and yonder stream Is mournfully replying, Lamenting loud the sunny light That in the west is dying. The moon is rising o'er the hill, Her slanting rays are creeping Where Nature lies profoundly still In happy quiet sleeping, And resting on her face, they'll find The earth is wet with weeping. She mourneth for the lovely day, Now deep in darkness shaded; She sheds the dewy tear because Of morning's mantle faded; She misses from her breast the garb In which the moon array'd it. The evening queen will strive in vain To break the spell which bound her; A million stars can never throw Departed warmth around her; They all must pass away and leave The earth as they had found her. But why should gentle Nature weep That night has overtaken The wearied world that needed sleep, Refreshed to re-awaken, So richer light might burst around, The gloomy shadows breaking? Oh, can she not from yonder sky That gleams above her, borrow A single ray, or find a way To check the tear of sorrow? A beam of hope would last her till The dawning of to-morrow.
Henry Kendall’s other poems:
