The cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
Their seam the day upon.
The low gra** loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
To stay as if, or go.
A vastness, as a neighbor, came, —
A wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home, —
And so the night became.