The dew upon
The leaf now lies,
Now to her home
The sparrow flies,
And vaster are the embodied skies.
There is a mist
On every blade,
Sleep wanders where
The swallow played,
Pale shadow over all is laid.
Oh, grief could leave
No burden now
Upon the drifting
Willow bough,
For what has been
And what is not
Are both within this peace forgot.