Dusk, by Madison Cawein

  Corn-colored clouds upon a sky of gold,
  And 'mid their sheaves,—where, like a daisy-bloom
  Left by the reapers to the gathering gloom,
  The star of twilight glows,—as Ruth, 'tis told,
  Dreamed homesick 'mid the harvest fields of old,
  The Dusk goes gleaning color and perfume
  From Bible slopes of heaven, that illume
  Her pensive beauty deep in shadows stoled.
  Hushed is the forest; and blue vale and hill
  Are still, save for the brooklet, sleepily
  Stumbling the stone with one foam-fluttering foot:
  Save for the note of one far whippoorwill,
  And in my heart her name,—like some sweet bee
  Within a rose,—blowing a faery flute.