I watched the dusk come,
Watched the autumn dusk come
And the pale sun sagged down and down listlessly,
Caught in a mesh of wanly opaled mists,
Fell into a flat sad sea
And a bat slipped by silent and dark,
Returned, flicked my cheek with furtive wing,
Sped on and came no more.
And in the west one star was not,
Then was,
A sallow star, a somber star.
And through the mists between the star and sea,
The face of one long dead looked out at me
And the eyes called . . . . .
O, eyes that call and call,
Life is not sweet, life is not sweet
At the dusk,
At the autumn dusk