While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a waiful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles form a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.