Sunday Evening Poem by Radclyffe Hall
Sunday Evening
The noontide showers have drifted past.
The sunset's on the hill,
The lights be gleaming through the dusk,
Adown by Clincher's Mill.
It's such a pretty evening, maid.
All quiet-hke, and blue ;
With here and there a darksome cloud
That lets the silver through.
The folk be all in Sunday best,
I see'd 'em passing by ;
Then come along the quiet lane.
And walk a bit with I.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 9:23:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
