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When the
spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down
burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is
heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at
least must know
It is the change to darkness in the
sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One
bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too
far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some
waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let
the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night bee
too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will
be, be.'
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