Of dusk above is falling—

'Tis time to tryst! 'tis time to tryst!"

The whippoorwills are calling.

They call you to these twilight ways

With dewy odor dripping—

Ah, girlhood, through the rosy haze

Come like a moonbeam slipping.

3

 He enters her garden, speaking dreamily:

There is a fading inward of the day,

And all the pansy heaven clasps one star;

The dwindling acres eastward glimmer gray,

While all the world to westward smoulders far.

Now to your glass will you pass for the last time?

Pass! humming some ballad, I know,—

Here where I wait it is late and is past time—

Late! and the moments are slow, are slow.

[Pg 12]

There is a drawing downward of the night;

The bridegroom Heaven bends down to kiss the moon;

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