Come to me, shadows, down the hill,
Lie softly at my feet.
The sun has worked his will
And the day is done.
Come to me softly and distil
Your dews and dreams, that heat
And hours of heartless glare have overrun.
Come to me, shadows, down the hill
And bring with you the night,
Fire-flies and the whippoorwill
And ah, the moon —
Whose soft interpretings can still
The tangled tongues of right
And wrong, and hope and fear, that haunt the noon.
Come to me, shadows, down the hill —
And let there follow Sleep,
Which is God's tidal Will
That overflows
The world — obliterating ill,
And in its soothing sweep
Murmuring more of mercy than man knows.