Evening Song

Now the sun is sinking

In the golden West;

Birds and bees and children

All have gone to rest,

And the merry streamlet,

As it runs along, With a voice of sweetness

Sings its evening song.

Cowslip, daisy, violet, In their little beds,

All among the grasses,

Hide their heavy heads.

There they are, sweet darlings,

Sunk in happy dreams,

Till the rosy morning

Wakes them with its beams.