He gathered all his dusty gold again
Away with him ;
He only left a dim
Red colour on the sky, a ruddy stain
Scarce to be seen upon the quiet west :
So evening came, and darkness, and the sound
Of moving feet upon the whispering ground.
Like timid girls the shades went pacing down
The slopes of evening, trailing soberly
Their vestments grey ;
Far, far away
The last red colour faded to a brown,
So very faint the eye could scarcely see:
And then the skirts of evening swungupon
That little distant light, and it was gone.
The slopes of evening, trailing soberly
Their vestments grey ;
Far, far away
The last red colour faded to a brown,
So very faint the eye could scarcely see:
And then the skirts of evening swungupon
That little distant light, and it was gone.
The bee sped home, the beetle's wing of horn
Went booming by, the darkness every side
Gathered around,
On air and sky and ground ;
The pliant trees sang gently, far and wide,
In cadenced lift of leaves, a tale of morn ;
And then the moon's white circle, faint and thin,
Looked steady on the earth—there is no sin.
Went booming by, the darkness every side
Gathered around,
On air and sky and ground ;
The pliant trees sang gently, far and wide,
In cadenced lift of leaves, a tale of morn ;
And then the moon's white circle, faint and thin,
Looked steady on the earth—there is no sin.
Songs From The Clay [1915]
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