by AE Housman
And skies at evening cloud,
I muse on change and fortune
And all the feats I vowed
When I was young and proud.
Would lose the slanted ray,
And I would climb the beacon
That looked to Wales away
And saw the last of day.
The hues of evening died;
Night welled through lane and hollow
And hushed the countryside,
But I had youth and pride.
In converse high would stand,
Late, till the west was ashen
And darkness hard at hand,
And the eye lost the land.
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows,
And I had hope of those.
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs,
And then the heart replies.
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