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.

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