Dusk
Now is the healing, quiet hour that fills This gay, green world with peace and grateful rest.
Where lately over opalescent hills The blood of slain Day reddened all the west, Now comes at Night's behest,
A glow that over all the forest spills,
As with the gold of promised daffodils. Of all hours this is best.
It is time for thoughts of holy things, Of half-forgotten friends and one's own folk.
O'er all, the garden-scented sweetness clings To mingle with the wood fire's drifting smoke. A bull-frog's startled
Sounds from the gully where the last bird
His laggard vesper hymn, with folded wings; And night spreads forth her cloak.
Keeping their vigil where the great range yearns, Like rigid sentries stand the wise old gums.
On blundering wings a night-moth wheels and turns And lumbers on, mingling its drowsy hums With that far roll of drums,
Where the swift creek goes tumbling amidst the ferns…Now, as the first star in the zenith burns, The dear, soft darkness comes.
C J Dennis
Other author posts
Upon the Road to Rockabout
Upon the road to RockaboutI came upon some sheep -A large and woolly flock As wide as it was deep I was about to turn To ask the man to
Our Street
In our street, the main street Running thro' the town, You see a lot of busy folk Going up and down: Bag men and basket men, Men with loads of hay, Buying things and selling things And carting things away
Doreen
I wish't yeh menat it, Bill Oh, 'ow me 'eart Went out to 'er that evnin' on the beach I knew she weren't no ordinary tart, My little peach
Old Black Jacko
Old Black Jacko Smokes tobacco In his little pipe of clay Puff, puff, puff, He never has enough Though he smokes it all day But his lubra says, Mine tink dat
