The Sun kept setting—setting—still
No Hue of Afternoon—
Upon the Village I perceived
From House to House 'twas Noon—
The Dusk kept dropping—dropping—still
No Dew upon the Gra**—
But only on my Forehead stopped—
And wandered in my Face—
My Feet kept drowsing—drowsing—still
My fingers were awake—
Yet why so little sound—Myself
Unto my Seeming—make?
How well I knew the Light before—
I could see it now—
'Tis Dying—I am doing—but
I'm not afraid to know—