by Paul Laurence Dunbar
The moon begins her stately ride
Across the summer sky;
The happy wavelets lash the shore,—
The tide is rising high.
Beneath some friendly blade of grass
The lazy beetle cowers;
The coffers of the air are filled
With offerings from the flowers.
And slowly buzzing o’er my head
A swallow wings her flight;
I hear the weary plowman sing
As falls the restful night.