Classic Poem

The cloud-hidden sun had lately set
On hill as on dell outreaching dark,
And mist, on the sweeping wind, came wet
O'er quivering leaves and ribby bark;
The while, by the fire outglowing red
And flame of the lamp upspearing white,
Good folk, with a roof above their head,
Now let the night go; let go the night.

And where the still bird was in the dry,
Or where the shy ground-beast shunn'd the drops,
Or which under cliff or roof might lie,
Or which in the rick, or grove, or copse
I knew not, nor cared I where the dove
Was gone to her roost, all out of sight;
But still I may find (thought I) my love
The while the night goes; while goes the night.

And strong was the wind throughout the mile,
And misty it blew on slope and ridge,
And swiftly it sped through gate and stile,
And swept o'er the stream below the bridge.
But still if I reach (thought I) the door
Before they put out the fire and light,
And ere they may leave the old hall-floor,
Then let the night blow; let blow the night.

The children's light feet had climb'd the treads
Of stairs that to them are high and steep,
And lay on their darksome little beds
With white little eyelids shut in sleep.
But there is the eldest child of all,
And now has upgrown to woman's height,
And sits with her elders in the hall
The while the night goes; while goes the night.