From upland slopes I see the cows file by,
  Lowing, great-chested, down the homeward trail,
  By dusking fields and meadows shining pale
With moon-tipped dandelions; flickering high,
A peevish night-hawk in the western sky
  Beats up into the lucent solitudes,
  Or drops with griding wing; the stilly woods
Grow dark and deep, and gloom...