Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds, <br />All ether softening, sober Evening takes <br />Her wonted station in the middle air; <br />She sends on earth; then that of deeper dye <br />Steals soft behind; and then a deeper still, <br />In circle following circle, gathers round, <br />To close the face of things. A fresher gale <br />Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, <br />Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn; <br />While the quail clamours for his running mate. <br />Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, <br />A whitening shower of vegetable down <br />Amusive floats. The kind impartial care <br />Of Nature nought disdains: thoughtful to feed <br />Her lowest songs, and clothe the coming year, <br />From field to field the feather'd seed she wings. <br />Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, <br />The glowworm lights his gem; and through the dark <br />A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields <br />The world to Night; not in her winter robe <br />Of massy Stygian woof, but loose array'd <br />In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, <br />Glanced from th' imperfect surfaces of things, <br />Flings half an image on the straining eye; <br />While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, <br />And rocks, and mountain tops, that long retain'd <br />Th' ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, <br />Uncertain if beheld.<br /><br />James Thomson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-in-summer/