III

i

When from the folds the shepherd comes

At the shut of day,

The fires are lit in valley homes,

The smoke blue and grey—

So still, so still!—hangs o'er the thatch;

So still the night falls,

My love might know me at the latch

By my heart-calls.

And hear you me, my love, this night

Where Grief and I are set?

And look you for the beacon light,

And can you see it yet?

Or is the sod too deep, my love,

Which they piled over you?

Or are you bound in sleep, my love,

Lying in the dew?

 ii 

ii

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