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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 11, Issue 8 (November 2, 1936)



It was day, and then came night,
Softly, gently, like the flight
Of some winged bird.
And shadows veiled the misty hill,
One lone starling chapped his bill,
No other stirred.
The trees waved leafy arms on high,
Reaching, dimly to the sky,
In silent prayer.
Then slowly came the crescent moon,
Climbing in her silver shoon,
The sky's dark stair.
With head beneath the wing, the birds
In silence slept. No twittered words
Came through the boughs.
Within the folds of evening's gown
The sheep upon the hills lay down,
By drowsy cows.
The steeple of the church held high,
Its pencil finger to the sky,
The great bell tolled.
Then through the dusk, from vale to hill,
The echoes rang and rang, until
The night grew old.

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