I stood in the gathering twilight,
In a gently blowing wind;
Then the house looked half uneasy, Like one that was left behind.
The roses had lost their redness, And cold the grass had grown; At roost were the pigeons and peacock, The sun-dial seemed a head-stone.
The world by the gathering twilight
In a gauzy dusk was clad;
Something went into my spirit And made me a little sad.
Grew and gathered the twilight, It filled my heart and brain; The sadness grew more than sadness, It turned to a gentle pain.
Browned and brooded the twilight, Pervaded, absorbed the calm, Till it seemed for some human sorrows There could not be any balm.