Evening Poem by Jan Struther

I have looked too long upon the sunset.
Its spell has stripped me bare
Of all the comfortable thoughts
That commonly I wear.
Evening's the chink in the soul's armour,
And through it I can feel
The soft cold fingers of desolation
Silently, deftly steal.
Nought 's left of joy now but its transience;
Of pride, but its loneliness.
Love's a dim ache, a dying music,
Beautiful, comfortless.
Colour to greyness turns, and slowly
Light fades from the sky:
I sit bowed down by the weight of evening,
Too sorrowful to cry.