The Spike or Victoria College Review 1936
The light is fading. Shadow-shapes are long
Across the green-gold grass. The setting sun
Glints on the tree-tops. Swiftly one by one
Birds homeward fly, singing their evening song.
Hushed is the wind; the whole world breathless lies
Waiting the darkness; now long shadows creep
Stealthily over the land, smoothing, with sleep
And dimness, the lovely light out of the skies.
The light is fading. Beauty passes away
Softly, as dies the sunset into the pale
Twilight; and with its golden moments fail
The light and warmth and colour of to-day.
The light is fading; yet, in a world grown blind,
Still shines the lamp of memory in the mind.