So, like the corn moon-ripened last,
Would I, weary and gray,
On golden memories ripen fast,
And ripening pass away.
In an old night so let me die;
A slow wind out of doors;
- waning moon low in the sky; A vapour on the moors;
- fire just dying in the gloom; Earth haunted all with dreams;
- sound of waters in the room; A mirror's moony gleams;
And near me, in the sinking night,
More thoughts than move in me--
Forgiving wrong, and loving right,
And waiting till I see.