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
away
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.