Evening from the Cricket Field

The grey-wing'd Evening flits adown the dale,
And shades dissolve in undetermin'd shade:
The mystic music of the scented gale
Sings the dead day: and all the objects fade,
Making their separate hues one blended whole …
Chapel and Church and Field—whatever made
Glorious the day—richly together roll
In single wealth: Sedbergh reveals her soul.
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