Winter Nightfall

The day begins to droop,— Its course is done: But nothing tells the place Of the setting sun.

The hazy darkness deepens, And up the lane You may hear, but cannot see, The homing wain.

An engine pants and hums In the farm hard by: Its lowering smoke is lost In the lowering sky.

The soaking branches drip, And all night through The dropping will not cease In the avenue.

A tall man there in the house Must keep his chair: He knows he will never again Breathe the spring air:

His heart is worn with work; He is giddy and sick If he rise to go as far As the nearest rick:

He thinks of his morn of life, His hale, strong years; And braves as he may the night Of darkness and tears.

16

Since we loved,—(the earth that shook As we kissed, fresh beauty took)— Love hath been as poets paint, Life as heaven is to a saint;

All my joys my hope excel, All my work hath prosper’d well, All my songs have happy been, O my love, my life, my queen.

17

When Death to either shall come,— I pray it be first to me,— Be happy as ever at home, If so, as I wish, it be.

Possess thy heart, my own; And sing to the child on thy knee, Or read to thyself alone The songs that I made for thee.

18