Thursday, July 09, 2009
Evening
The evening comes, the fields are still.
The tinkle of the thirsty rill,
Unheard all day, ascends again;
Deserted is the half-mown plain,
Silent the swaths! the ringing wain,
The mower`s cry, the dog`s alarms,
All housed within the sleeping farms!
The business of the day is done,
The last-left haymaker is gone.
And from the thyme upon the height,
And from the elder-blossom white
And pale dog-roses in the hedge,
And from the mint-plant in the sedge,
In puffs of balm the night-air blows
The perfume which the day forgoes.
And on the pure horizon far,
See, pulsing with the first-born star,
The liquid sky above the hill!
The evening comes, the fields are still.
By Matthew Arnold
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12 comments:
What a beautiful poem! I just saw a related post, from Daisy Lupins poetry fest, I still miss her, how strange - and lovely - that her voice is here, as it were.
A beautiful poem, Rowan.
I enjoyed your previous post, too. The field of buttercups is so pretty! I enjoy your walks!
Hi Rowan...
the sky photo suits the poem well...liquid sky...very peaceful poem you chose.
Just lovely - so perfect.
Lovely. and perfect for this time of year, Rowan.
i love this
'the tinkle of the thirsty rill'...it makes me think of when i was young, playing down at my best friends farm
Hi Rowan,
Beautiful poem and one that shows how wonderful consecutive rhyming lines can be!
I notice the music widget has gone (aaww) and my screen didn't freeze. Thanks!
So descriptive. I loved it. Thank you Rowan!
What a wonderfully, atmospheric poem - I can feel the stillness of the evening after the busy day's work on the farm and catch the scents in the warm evening air. Thankyou:)
Beautiful photos and beautiful poem. both quintessential English (at least to my American mind!)
What a beautiful poem. It has been a week or so since we experienced beautiful Summer evenings here, I do hope they return, we have gone fast forward to a chllly Autumn ...
Kimx
It is really impressive when the same verse is repeated both in the beginning and in the end of the poem: The evening comes, the fields are still... This is the message of the poem, isn't it? The stillness.
The pictures supplement the atmosphere of the poem perfectly.
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