Evening Falls, An

At eve the horse is freed of plough or wain,
And all things turn from labour unto rest;
The scattered sheep are gathering home again,
And every bird is winging to its nest;
And every beast goes to his den once more
By hedge or hill. Each mother is aware
That little feet
Have paused in field or street,
And she will hear a knocking at the door
And open it, and see her children there.
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