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Home  »  library  »  poem  »  At Dusk

C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

At Dusk

By Archibald Lampman (1861–1899)

ALREADY o’er the west the first star shines,

And day and dark are imperceptibly linked;

The fences and pied fields grow indistinct,

Deep beyond deep the living light declines,

Still lingering o’er the westward mountain lines,

Pallid and clear; and on its silent breast

A symbol of eternal quiet rest,

Far and black-plumed, the imperturbable pines,

A few thin threads of purple clouds still float

In the serene ether, and the night wind,

Wandering in puffs from off the darkening hill,

Breathes warm or cool; and now the whip-poor-will

Beyond the river margins glassed and thinned,

Whips the cool hollows with his liquid note.