"The Veery"

(photo by: anonymous)
when day is hushed and hidden,
and golden words are mute,
the elegist of evening
touches his silver lute.

as if the light were lyric
that from the first star gleams
for through the dewy pinewood
the glimmering choral streams.

as if through lonely oriels
of sundown's gorgeous fane
resplendent dying beauty sang
anthens of love and pain.

as if the rosebay's beauty
in music overbrimmed
till all the fading forest hears
her radiant vespers hymned.

as if a heart long harried,
and scourged by many a rod,
had triumphed and were singing
safe in the arms of God.
by Archibald Rutledge
from "I Hear America Singing"