Classic Poem

Do you hear the bells of twilight
Ringing clear, along the air?
For they call the ships to haven
And the workers all from care.
And the birds are done with flying,
And the hush is over all;
While the flocks are trooping homeward,
And the herd-bells, too, do call:

Good-night, good-night, my burden;
Good-morrow with the sun!
Good-night to you, my journey;
The longest day is done.