The End of the Day

Duncan Campbell Scott (1862–1947)

I HEAR the bells at eventide

Peal softly 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,

The light runs out beyond the long cloud bars,

And leaves the single stars;

’T is time for sleep, sleep, sleep,

’T is 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.”