Nightfall in winter

Cold is the air,

The woods are bare

And brown; the herd

Stand in the yard.

The frost doth fall;

And round the hill

The hares move slow;

The homeward crow,

Alone and high,

Crosses the sky

All silently.

The quick streams freeze;

The moving trees

Are still; for now

No breeze will blow:

The wind has gone

With the day, down,

And clouds are come

Bearing the gloom.

The yellow grass

In the clear glass

Of the bright pool

Grows soft and dull.

The water's eye

That held the sky

Now glazes quite;

And now the light

On the cold hill

Fadeth, until

The giant mass

Doth seem to pass

From near to far;

The clouds obscure

The sky with gloom:

The night is come,

The night is come.