Winter Words Op. 52: 1. At Day-close in November

The ten hours' light is abating
And a late bird wings across
Where the pines, like waltzers waiting
Give their black heads a toss
Beech leaves, that yellow the noontime
Float past like specks in the eye;
I set every tree in my June time
And now they obscure the sky
And the children who ramble through here
Conceive that there never has been
A time when no tall trees grew here
That none will in time be seen