Henry Alford

On The Evening Of A Villiage Festival.

While our shrub--walks darken, And the stars get bright aloft, Still we sit and hearken To the music low and soft; By the old oak yonder, Where we watch the setting sun, Listening to the far--off thunder Of the multitude as one: Sit, my best beloved, In the waning light; Yield thy spirit to the teaching Of each sound and sight: While those sounds are flowing To their silent rest; While the parting wake of sunlight Broods along the west. Sweeter 'tis to hearken Than to bear a part; Better to look on happiness Than to carry a light heart: Sweeter to walk on cloudy hills With a sunny plain below, Than to weary of the brightness Where the floods of sunshine flow. Souls that love each other Join both joys in one; Blest by other's happiness, And nourished by their own: So with quick reflection, Each its opposite Still gives back, and multiplies To infinite delight.