Evening Call

Where was I when the evening called

And the day’s lights went down

When working men turned toward home

And frost covered the ground?

I past a sullen soul who said

‘From signs I turn away

The writings are all wrong

The hills are steep and grey.’

Where was I when the evening called?

I can't hear or see,

The snow lies on the field

The fret lies on me.

1 comment:

Chris Moulton said...

My temples, throb, my pulses boil,
I'm sick of Song, and Ode, and Ballad-
So, Thyrsis, take the Midnight Oil,
And pour it on a lobster salad.

My brain is dull, my sight is foul,
I cannot write a verse, or read-
Then, Pallas, take away thine Owl,
And let us have a lark instead.
Thomas Hood