The clouds no more are flocking
After the flushing sun;
Bees end their long droning,
The bat's hunt is begun;
And the tired wind that went flittering
Up and down the hill
Lies like a shadow still,
Like a shadow still.

Who is it that's calling
Out of the deepening dark,
Calling, calling, calling?--
No!--yet hark!
The sleepy wind wakes, carrying
Up and down the hill
A voice how small and still,
How sweet and still!

Who is it that answers
Out of a quiet cloud--
'Stay, oh stay! I come, I come!'
Cried at last aloud?
My voice, my heart went answering
Up and down the hill--
Mine so strange and still,
Mine grave and still.