And Ceaseless is Their Flight

Poemata XCII

Gripping hard the rake I watch the streaming sky
Leaning on the hill -- Hands white from weather and wind
 Countless are the travelers that arc and fly
Journey to the south -- so the great Summer rescind;

Band electric shimmers like a wire so fine
Twisting in and out -- over a land lined with brown
 Thus a flight a birds across a cloud align
Shadows make they not -- nor on the land o'er they frown;

Song which might have marked their merry moot in Spring
Is a flood of cries -- far, full of sorrowful sound
 They must pass from here unto the waiting sea
Palest blue and white -- bearing their souls from the ground;

Live again, O birds who bring to me this news
Hell is emptied out -- over this valley stream forth
 Make us raise our eyes and envy those set loose
Travel to that Throne -- dwellers of dark in the north;

Do we hope to stand that housed again may be?
Paltry are our works -- without a hope or a home
 Having lost all things which have posterity
Some for common weal -- some but for profit o'erthrown;

Turning to the east I count the hours till dawn
What is gone, is gone -- never again to return
 Shadows lengthen out and stretch across the lawn
Ceaseless is their flight -- till earth and heaven shall burn.