The misty moth-time is begun;
⁠Trees stand like shadows in the lanes,
Birds sing their farewells to the sun,
⁠And candles shine through cottage-panes:
And now the west glow softly wanes,
⁠And crickets about houses run;
The sky is losing all its stains —
⁠The night comes on, and day is done.

Repose will ease the workman's pains,
⁠And speak to him of sleep well won:
He walks in peace along the lanes.
⁠That have new scent now rain is done;
Stars come to full light one by one,
⁠Between wet leaves along the lanes;
He sees them as he walks, but none
⁠Cheer him like light through cottage panes.