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.
