When evening’s shadow creeps across the glade,
And twilight’s veil enfolds the drowsy mead,
‘Tis then the stars their dappled light parade,
And whisper to my heart, ‘Rest, take heed.’

Each leaf of yonder oak, in tranquil night,
Is steeped in silver, wrapped in soft repose;
With fragrant breezes weaving dreams in flight,
In Nature’s heart—each secret she bestows.

• Charlotte Smith