Darkness comes out of the earth

And swallows dip into the pallor of the west;

From the hay comes the clamour of children’s mirth;

Wanes the old palimpsest.

The night-stock oozes scent,

And a moon-blue moth goes flittering by:

All that the worldly day has meant

Wastes like a lie.

The children have forsaken their play;

A single star in a veil of light

Glimmers: litter of day

Is gone from sight.