I.

The light is fading down the sky,

The shadows grow and multiply,

I hear the thrushes' evening song;

But I have borne with toil and wrong

So long, so long!

Dim dreams my drowsy senses drown,--

So, darling, kiss my eyelids down!

The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 92, June, 1865 A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics · 第 28 / 65 题