SOMEWHERE, O sun, some corner there must be br Thou visitest, where down the strand br Quietly, still, the waves go out to sea br From the green fringes of a pastoral land. br br br Deep in the orchard-bloom the roof-trees stand, br The brown sheep graze along the bay, br And through the apple-boughs above the sand br The bees' hum sounds no fainter than the spray. br br br There through uncounted hours declines the day br To the low arch of twilight's close, br And, just as night about the moon grows gray, br One sail leans westward to the fading rose.