From upland slopes I see the cows file by,
 Lowing, great-chested, down the homeward trail,
 By dusking fields and meadows shining pale
 With moon-tipped dandelions. Flickering high,
 A peevish night-hawk in the western sky
 Beats up into the lucent solitudes,
 Or drops with griding wing. The stilly woods
 Grow dark and deep, and gloom mysteriously.
 Cool night winds creep, and whisper in mine ear.
 The homely cricket gossips at my feet.
 From far-off pools and wastes of reeds I hear,
 Clear and soft-piped, the chanting frogs break sweet
 In full Pandean chorus. One by one
 Shine out the stars, and the great night comes on.