CategoryRobert Bridges

Winter Nightfall


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 lane You may hear, but cannot see,     The homing wain. An engine pants and hums     In the farm hard by: Its lowering smoke is lost     In the lowering sky. The soaking branches drip,  ...