The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916/Benediction

The sun has sunk down, and a ling'ring trace
Of burnish'd gold tints the hills of grey;
And across the evening's pearl-scarr'd face
A lone loon wings his unheeded way.

The shadows are deep round the shelter'd lake,
And the swamp is hid in a vapour veil
That rises and falls o'er the wild rice brake,
And wavers and floats like a phantom sail.

A star burns clear in the folds of night,
And through the deep thicket that lines the shore
Shines a flickering fleck of crimson light,
That glows from a distant cottage door.

The day is done, and o'er Earth's broad span
A sweet, solemn silence gently falls,
And peace caresses the sons of Man,
In the peasant's cot and the Baron's walls.