DUSK.

New Zealand Tablet, 11 August 1921, Page 35

DUSK.

The red sun dips. Long shadows grow To one rich gloom as homeward go The scuttling hares, whose white tails gash The dark green banks where by they flash. Old neighbor horse lends his rough tongue And licks a dozing mare. Nigh sung Is the last lullaby of birds A dreamy song of nonsense-words.

And sleepily I seek my home, Who ask from day’s distemper some Dear refuge at the dusk of night, Still haven from harsh seas of light. Tired senses all to sleep are curled, Their doors fast shut upon the world: And friendly stars like tapers shine With guardian light on me and mine.

—Westminster Gazette.