The storm is over, the land hushes to rest: 
The tyrannous wind, its strength fordone, 
Is fallen back in the west 
To couch with the sinking sun. 
The last clouds fare 
With fainting speed, and their thin streamers fly 
In melting drifts of the sky. 
 ... 
The day is done: the tired land looks for night: 
She prays to the night to keep 
In peace her nerves of delight: 
While silver mist upstealeth silently, 
And the broad cloud-driving moon in the clear sky 
Lifts o'er the firs her shining shield, 
And in her tranquil light 
Sleep falls on forest and field. 
See! sleep hath fallen: the trees are asleep: 
The night is come. The land is wrapt in sleep.