THE wind and the day had lived together, They died together, and far away Spoke¹ farewell in the sultry weather, Out of the sunset, over the heather, The dying wind and the dying day.

    Far in the south, the summer levin Flushed, a flame in the grey soft air： We seemed to look on the hills of heaven； You saw within, but to me 'twas given To see your face, as an angel's, there.

    Never again, ah surely never Shall we wait and watch, where of old we stood, The low good-night of the hill and the river, The faint light fade, and the wan² stars quiver, Twain grown one in the solitude³.