Thomas Gray, From “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” (1751):

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winde slowly o’er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wand’ring near her secret bower
Molest her ancient solitary rein.