A Summer Evening Churchyard: Lechlade, Gloucestershire
The
wind
has
swept
from
the
wide
atmosphere
Each
vapour
that
obscured
the
sunset's
ray;
And
pallid
Evening
twines
its
beaming
hair
In
duskier
braids
around
the
languid
eyes
of
Day:
Silence
and
Twilight,
unbeloved
of
men,
Creep
hand
in
hand
from
yon
obscurest
glen.
They
breathe
their
spells
towards
the
departing
day,
Encompassing
the
earth,
air,
stars,
and
sea;
Light,
sound,
and
motion
own
the
potent
sway,
Responding
to
the
charm
with
its
own
mystery.
The
winds
are
still,
or
the
dry
church-tower
grass
Knows
not
their
gentle
motions
as
they
pass.
Thou
too,
aëreal
Pile!
whose
pinnacles
Point
from
one
shrine
like
pyramids
of
fire,
Obeyest
in
silence
their
sweet
solemn
spells,
Clothing
in
hues
of
heaven
thy
dim
and
distant
spire,
Around
whose
lessening
and
invisible
height
Gather
among
the
stars
the
clouds
of
night.
The
dead
are
sleeping
in
their
sepulchres:
And,
mouldering
as
they
sleep,
a
thrilling
sound,
Half
sense,
half
thought,
among
the
darkness
stirs,
Breathed
from
their
wormy
beds
all
living
things
around,
And
mingling
with
the
still
night
and
mute
sky
Its
awful
hush
is
felt
inaudibly.
Thus
solemnized
and
softened,
death
is
mild
And
terrorless
as
this
serenest
night:
Here
could
I
hope,
like
some
inquiring
child
Sporting
on
graves,
that
death
did
hide
from
human
sight
Sweet
secrets,
or
beside
its
breathless
sleep
That
loveliest
dreams
perpetual
watch
did
keep.
