The sun is all very well when it rises—then
who minds returning its abrupt salute?
But fortunate the man who still can find
room in his heart for its high-flown farewell!
Take my case, I’ve seen all nature swoon
under that gaze, like an over-driven heart.
Late as it is, who can resist the West
and the hope of entertaining one last ray. . .
No use following! The god withdraws,
and darkness comes into its own. The world
is cold and wet and full of mysteries;
a mortuary odor rises from the marsh
where my uncertain footsteps try to keep
from squashing frogs or snakes or something worse…