The vast and solemn company of clouds 
Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined, 
Cool into ashy wan; as Night enshrouds 
The level pasture, creeping up behind 
Through voiceless vales, o'er lawn and purpled hill 
And hazéd mead, her mystery to fulfil. 
Cows low from far-off farms; the loitering wind 
Sighs in the hedge, you hear it if you will,-- 
Tho' all the wood, alive atop with wings 
Lifting and sinking through the leafy nooks, 
Seethes with the clamour of a thousand rooks. 
Now every sound at length is hush'd away. 
These few are sacred moments. One more Day 
Drops in the shadowy gulf of bygone things.