  I'll look no more! thro timeless hours my eyes Without intent have watched the slowing flight Of ebon crows across quiescent skies Till all are gone; the last, a lonely bird, Scudding to rest thro streams of golden curd That flow far eastward to the coming night. And as I turn again to foiling thought My spirit leaves me—as faint zephyrs leave The trees at evening; tho all day they've sought A place to hide them in and fondly grieve. And silently the slow oil sinks beneath The noiseless burning wick of yellow flame. It is as if God back to him would breathe All the world's given life, and end its Aim. |
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