The Night Cometh

Cometh the night.  The wind falls low,

The trees swing slowly to and fro:

Around the church the headstones grey Cluster, like children strayed

But found again, and folded so.

No chiding look doth she bestow:

If she is glad, they cannot know;

If ill or well they spend their day,            Cometh the night.

Singing or sad, intent they go;

They do not see the shadows grow; "There yet is time," they lightly say, "Before our work aside we lay";

Their task is but half-done, and lo!            Cometh the night.