IT is so still here in the dusky wood;
Only the moths have motion where they spin
And flutter through the dark.
There in the deeper dusk the cedars brood.
No warmth of fields, no voice of meadow-lark
Floats here, no breeze may wander in
So deep to bear me company.
I, who am so companioned in a field,
Am lonely here, and rather sleepily
Afraid. Just now some little beast has squealed
And made me creep; so that I wonder why
I come here to the wood at end of day
After the glow has faded from the sky.
Once at this hour I saw you pass this way.