A Friend Expected

Over the chain of giant peaks
 The great red sun goes down,
And in the stealthy floods of night
 The distant valleys drown.

Yon moon that cleaves the gloomy pines
 Has freshness in her train;
Low wind, faint stream, and waterfall
 Haunt me with their refrain.

The tired woodman seeks his cot
 That twinkles up the hill;
And sleep has touched the wanderers
 That sang the twilight still.

To-night — ah! beauty of to-night
 I need my friend to praise,
So take the lute to lure him on
 Through the fragrant, dew-lit ways.