Duncan Campbell Scott (1862–1947)

I HEAR the bells at eventide

Peal slowly one by one,

Near and far off they break and glide,

Across the stream float faintly beautiful

The antiphonal bells of Hull;

The day is done, done, done,

The day is done.

The dew has gathered in the flowers

Like tears from some unconscious deep,

The swallows whirl around the towers,

And light runs out beyond the long cloud bars,

And leaves the single stars;

’Tis time for sleep, sleep, sleep,

’Tis time for sleep.

The hermit thrush begins again,

Timorous eremite,

That song of risen tears and pain,

As if the one he loved was far away;

‘Alas! another day—’

‘And now Good-night, Good-Night,’

‘Good-Night.’