Excerpt from The Third Book of the Poets Club The valleys, and the slow, reluctant day, On purple sandals gliding, steals away Into the gloaming, by the sleeping streams, A pensive spirit passing unto dreams. It is the hour when woods enchanted glow And gentle winds with dying odours blow, From tree to tree faint pipes of evening call, The bat sweeps circling by the ivied wall, A lark drops fluttering to his lowly nest, And drowsily the ring-dove croons of rest. The moan of kine has ceased, the drone of bees, But ever a little stream among the trees Speeds lightly on, and singeth as it goes, Songs that a child at evening might compose. Now the sun's flight is finished in the West Where far the great clouds veil his flaming crest. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.