The river sleeps beneath the sky
And clasps the shadows to its breast;
The crescent moon shines dim on high;
And in the lately radiant west
The gold is fading into gray
Now stills the lark his festive lay
And mourns with me the dying day

While in the south the first faint star
Lifts to the night its silver face
And twinkles to the moon afar
Across the heaven’s graying space
Low murmurs reach me from the town
As Day puts on her sombre crown
And shakes her mantle darkly down