EVENING

Go, little sorrows! From the evening wood Faint odors rise, that touch the heart like tears With inarticulate comfort. Lo, she bears A weary load—small cares that drug the blood, Small envies, sick desires for lesser good,— All day, till now the evening re-appears, They drop away, and she with wonder rears Her aching height from needless servitude. The tree-tops are all music; light and soft The brook’s small feet go tinkling toward the sea Bearing the little day’s distress afar; While yonder, in the stillness set aloft, My one great Grief, still glimmering down on me, Smiles tremulous as a bereavèd Star.