Iii

The cows are milked: the cattle fed: The last far streaks of evening fade: The farm-hand whistles in the shed, And in the house the table’s laid, Its lamp streams on the garden-bed:-- The whippoorwill is calling, “Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will,” Where the dogwood blooms are falling On the hill: The afterglow is waning, And the whippoorwill’s complaining, “Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will;” Wild and shrill, The whippoorwill’s complaining, “Whip-poor-will.”