Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern British Poetry. 1920.
Robert Bridges18441930Winter Nightfall
T
Its course is done:
But nothing tells the place
Of the setting sun.
And up the lane
You may hear, but cannot see,
The homing wain.
In the farm hard by:
Its lowering smoke is lost
In the lowering sky.
And all night through
The dropping will not cease
In the avenue.
Must keep his chair:
He knows he will never again
Breathe the spring air:
He is giddy and sick
If he rise to go as far
As the nearest rick:
His hale, strong years;
And braves as he may the night
Of darkness and tears.