At Close Of Day

At close of day when all the hubbub stops The wearied body bent with work of day Gazes Gazes at red dusk, wills it to stay My eyes pined them but not for Grief But for tiredness On the steep steeple pointed The weather-vane turns, turns, turns Though there little wind seeps Through the boughs peopled with Their inhabitants. Of wine I fill a glass and sip Sip Sip slowly And the stars one by one as heaven-hoary Ghosts and skeletons and shrouds Light and white light of moon too Stronger becomes with ticking of the time.