Voices moving about in the quiet house: 
Thud of feet and a muffled shutting of doors: 
Everyone yawning. Only the clocks are alert. 

Out in the night there?s autumn-smelling gloom 
Crowded with whispering trees; across the park
A hollow cry of hounds like lonely bells: 
And I know that the clouds are moving across the moon; 
The low, red, rising moon. Now herons call 
And wrangle by their pool; and hooting owls 
Sail from the wood above pale stooks of oats.

Waiting for sleep, I drift from thoughts like these; 
And where to-day was dream-like, build my dreams. 
Music ... there was a bright white room below, 
And someone singing a song about a soldier, 
One hour, two hours ago: and soon the song
Will be `last night?: but now the beauty swings 
Across my brain, ghost of remembered chords 
Which still can make such radiance in my dream 
That I can watch the marching of my soldiers, 
And count their faces; faces; sunlit faces.

Falling asleep ... the herons, and the hounds.... 
September in the darkness; and the world 
I?ve known; all fading past me into peace.