At Winter's End

The weedy fallows winter-worn,
Where cattle shiver under sodden hay.
The plough-lands long and lorn--
The fading day.

The sullen shudder of the brook,
And winds that wring the writhen trees in vain
For drearier sound or look--
The lonely rain.

The crows that train o'er desert skies
In endless caravans that have no goal
But flight--where darkness flies--
From Pole to Pole.

The sombre zone of hills around
That shrink in misty mournfulness from sight,
With sunset aureoles crowned--
Before the night.