The End

Alas the darkening sky, alas the steady sinking,

The passing of the world, and here the twilight twinkling,

Sing nightingale your vespers, vespertide be singing!

Soft falling of the stars and lo! the moon is rising.

I once knew younger men who watched the nightshade fall,

At ease between man’s mountains and Poseidon’s wall,

They watched the starry eagle, and the swan was flying,

Soft falling of the stars and lo! the young moon rising.

A winding and the evening came o’er th’petrine tower,

The shadow passed the wet rock and the frozen flower,

The holy war was ill-starred, yet its flags are flying,

Soft falling of the stars and lo! the full moon rising.

O hallowed halls, you knew the joy of homelike haunting,

Your earth-faced windows let the light that yet is wanting,

O blesséd night in which I heard the fair bard’s plying!

Soft falling of the stars and lo! the old moon rising.

And in Arcadia I saw his hollow eyes,

I saw man’s wisdom slip so like the sound of sighs,

But in the night, a new voice spoke and still is crying:“Soft falling of the stars and lo! the new moon rising.”