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The Sun kept setting — setting — still

No Hue of Afternoon —

Upon the Village I perceived —

From House to House ‘twas Noon —

The Dusk kept dropping — dropping — still

No Dew upon the Grass —

But only on my Forehead stopped —

And wandered in my Face —

My Feet kept drowsing — drowsing — still

My fingers were awake —

Yet why so little sound – Myself

Unto my Seeming — make?

How well I knew the Light before —

I could see it now —

‘Tis Dying – I am doing — but

I’m not afraid to know —

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