Calm and strange is this evening hour in the forest,
Carven domes of green are the trees by the pathway,
Infinite shadowy isles lie silent before me,
Summer is heavy with age, and leans upon Autumn.
All the land is ripe. There is no motion
Down the long bays of blue that those cloudy headlands
Sleep above in the glow of a fading sunset;
All things rest in the will of purpose triumphant.
Outlines melting into a vague immensity
Fade, the green gloom grows darker, and deeper the dusk:
Hark! a voice and laughter—the living and loving
Down these fantastic avenues pass like shadows.