Twilight On Sandusky Marsh
Low in the west the moon's slim crescent swings.
by John Hay
Across the marsh the vesper breezes bear
The sounds of gloaming; from far cornfields fare
The chittering blackbirds, whose ingathering brings
The silken flutter of a myriad wings.
The wild duck's cry floats down the thickening air
As of one hunted, full of fear and care.
Sad twilight comes with dubious whisperings.
How changed from that exultant world which lay
In the wide smile of noon! The evening's shiver
Means the day's death; its thronging whispers blend
With thoughts that haunt men when their lives must end.
Another dawn may gild a fairer day,
But this day, when it dies, is gone forever.