from Ode to a Nightingale
... The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death ...
—John Keats (1795-1821)
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
The veriest school
Of peace; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not--
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool? ...
—Thomas Edward Brown (1830-1897)
Where Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,
Letting the rose-leaves fall:
But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
With an ancient melody
Of an inward agony,
Where Claribel low-lieth.
At eve the beetle boometh ...
—Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
The Princess: As thro' the land
As thro' the land at eve we went,
And pluck'd the ripen'd ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,
O we fell out I know not why ...
Purpled with storm in many a trailing tress,
And saw at eve the broken sunset die ...
—Archibald Lampman (1861-1899)