by John Imlah
The dew-drops glitter on the grass,
And sparkle on the spray;
The balmy zephyrs rise and pass
Like lovers' sighs away!
It is the time I love to be
By wood or water side;
For dearer far than morn to me
Art thou sweet Eventide!
Now 'neath the Even’s favouring shade,
The youth and maiden meet;
When love and beauty's vows are made,
So solemn, fond, and sweet!
When eye and ear are sealed in sleep,
Where none may chase and chide;
The burdened heart now wakes to weep
Its woes at Eventide :
Far from the world’s care-trodden ways,
I seek some lonely shade;
To muse upon departed days,
And friends the far—the dead!
Tho' grief-fraught thoughts now heave my heart,
Than noonday's golden pride,
Or purple morn, more dear thou art—
Grey mantled Eventide!