Nocturne

 

Here where the bees are droning
Around the fuchsia bush,
All, all save their intoning
Is wrapped in evening hush.
The drowsy river glimmers,
Pale pink the twilight shimmers
After the sunset blush.

The bees are homeward droning
Their last and laden flight;
Soon now the breeze is moaning.
Amid the failing light
The stars peep out in heaven,
The world to God is given,
And on the earth is night!

1925