A Sunset at Les Eboulements

Broad shadows fall. On all the mountain side
  The scythe-swept fields are silent. Slowly home
  By the long beach the high-piled hay-carts come,
  Splashing the pale salt shallows. Over wide
  Fawn-coloured wastes of mud the slipping tide,
  Round the dun rocks and wattled fisheries,
  Creeps murmuring in. And now by twos and threes,
  O'er the slow spreading pools with clamorous chide,
  Belated crows from strip to strip take flight.
 Soon will the first star shine; yet ere the night
 Reach onward to the pale-green distances,
 The sun's last shaft beyond the gray sea-floor
 Still dreams upon the Kamouraska shore,
 And the long line of golden villages.