The mists of a summer ending,
A tree where the last bird sings,
The day and the night hours blending,
You will remember these things;
...
I would have rest now, and when the years progressing
Show with star-peopled sky the hour is late,
Call me from trees and flowers and guessing.
Then, in the cool of evening, I shall close the garden gate. Eyes now are tired. Life gives small chance of sleeping,
...