 | The Poems of Mackenzie Bell |  |
I.—In the Country.
'Tis twilight's brief enchanting hour,
The sun has lost his torrid power,
Yet keeps enough of might to fling
Sweet magic over everything.
'Tis not the beauty that you see
At sunset on an English lea.
'Tis beauty all intensified,
As if the Day-King in his pride
Ordains that where his power is shown,
His gifts of beauty shall be known.
The sun has lost his torrid power,
Yet keeps enough of might to fling
Sweet magic over everything.
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At sunset on an English lea.
'Tis beauty all intensified,
As if the Day-King in his pride
Ordains that where his power is shown,
His gifts of beauty shall be known.
The noon-tide glow which all things steep
In dreamless lethargy—the sleep
Of busy Nature now is past,
And all things are reviving fast.
The birds arouse themselves ere long,
And sing a cheerful vesper song.
The peasant takes his evening round
To view his much-loved plot of ground,
To find by scrutinising gaze
How fare his olives, vines or maize.
In dreamless lethargy—the sleep
Of busy Nature now is past,
And all things are reviving fast.
The birds arouse themselves ere long,
And sing a cheerful vesper song.
The peasant takes his evening round
To view his much-loved plot of ground,
To find by scrutinising gaze
How fare his olives, vines or maize.
| The Poems of Mackenzie Bell | |