Who comes so dark
J. Callcott
Who comes so dark from ocean's roar
Like autumn's shadowy cloud?
Death is trembling in his hand,
His eyes are flames of fire!
Son of the cloudy night, retire!
Call thy winds and fly to thy cave.
But let us sit by the mossy fount,
Let us hear the mournful voice of the breeze,
When it sighs on the grass of the cave.