The final sunset beams now pass
Upon the tawny field of rye.
Embraced by dewy sleep's last sigh,
Like unmown copper sways the grass.
No breeze or birdsong's shriek roams free;
The moon's red disc surmounts the copse;
So dies the reaper's melody,
All noise this silent evening stops.
Forget your cares, forsake your woe,
Without direction ride your steed;
Into the fog and distant leas
And toward the night and moon's faint glow!