Three Sunsets and Other Poems

The pictures, with their ruddy light,
Are changed to dust and ashes white,
And I am left alone with night

Nay! In those words there rings from other years
The echo of a long low cry,
Where a proud spirit wrestles with its tears
In loneliest agony

Here from the world I win release,
Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,
Break in to mar the holy peace
Of this great solitude.
Here may the silent tears I weep