They stream across the fading western sky
A sable cloud, far o'er the lonely leas
Now parting into scattered companies
Now closing up the broken ranks, still high
And higher yet they mount, while, carelessly
Trail slow behind, athwart the moving trees
A lingering few, 'round whom the evening breeze
Plays with sad whispered murmurs as they fly
A lonely figure, ghostly in the dim
And darkening twilight lingers in the shade
Of bending willows: "Surely God has laid
His curse on me," he moans, "my strength of limb
And old heart-courage fail me, and I flee
Bowed with fell terror at this augury"