15WINTER NIGHTFALLThe day begins to droop,—Its course is done:But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air:His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick:He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
15WINTER NIGHTFALLThe day begins to droop,—Its course is done:But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air:His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick:He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
The day begins to droop,—Its course is done:But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air:His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick:He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
The day begins to droop,—Its course is done:But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air:His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick:He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
The day begins to droop,—Its course is done:But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.
The day begins to droop,—
Its course is done:
But nothing tells the place
Of the setting sun.
The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.
The hazy darkness deepens,
And up the lane
You may hear, but cannot see,
The homing wain.
An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.
An engine pants and hums
In the farm hard by:
Its lowering smoke is lost
In the lowering sky.
The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.
The soaking branches drip,
And all night through
The dropping will not cease
In the avenue.
A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air:
A tall man there in the house
Must keep his chair:
He knows he will never again
Breathe the spring air:
His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick:
His heart is worn with work;
He is giddy and sick
If he rise to go as far
As the nearest rick:
He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
He thinks of his morn of life,
His hale, strong years;
And braves as he may the night
Of darkness and tears.