The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck :

Only the fox is out, some heedless duck

Or chicken to surprise.

Remote, each single star

Comes out, till there they are

All shining brightly: how the dews fall damp.!

While close at hand the glowworm lights her lamp

Or twinkles from afar.

But evening now is done

As much as if the sun

Day-giving had arisen in the East:

For night has come; and the great calm has ceased,

'The quiet sands have run.

THREE SEASONS.

"A cup for hope!" she said,

In springtime ere the bloom was old :

The crimson wine was poor and cold

By her mouth's richer red.

66 A

cup

for love!" how low,

How soft the words; and all the while

Her blush was rippling with a smile

Hope, memory, love:

Hope for fair morn, and love for day,

And memory for the evening grey

And solitary dove.