 | The village curate and other poems |  |
294
EVENING WALK.
'Tis awful, as the shades of ev'ning fall,To walk among that family of oaks
Which nature seems, in her luxuriant mood,
To have pour'd along the bottom of the vale.
Under their mingled boughs reigns double night,
Cloth'd in profoundest horror. 'Tis a path
Dull at noonday; but at the twilight close,
Dark as the blind abyss or gloomy cave
Of sightless death and never-ending night.
| The village curate and other poems | |