They who have gone down the hill are far away;
From the still valleys I can hear them call;
Their distant laughter faintly floats
Through the unmoving air and back to me.
I am alone with the declining day
And the declining forest where the notes
Of all the happy minstrelsy,
Birds and leaf-music and the rest,
Sink separately in the hush of fall.
The sun and clouds conflicting in the west
Swirl into smoky light together and fade
Under the unbroken shadow;
Under the shadowed peace that is the night;
Under the night's great quietude of shade.
The sheep below me in the meadow
Seem drifting on the haze, serene and white,
Pale pastured dreams, unearthly herds that roam
Where the dead reign and phantoms make their home.
They also pass, even as the clear ring
Of the sad Angelus through the vales echoing.

Montigny