Sonnet Xxv:

XXV The leaden eyelids of wan twilight close Upon the sun; and now the misty dew Trails its wet skirts across the glades, and through The tangled grasses of the meadow goes, Shaking a drop in every open rose, In every lily's cup; Yon dreary yew Alone looks darker for the tears that strew Its dusky leaves, and deeper shadow throws, And closer gathers; as if it would sit As one who, mourning, wraps his mantle tight, And huddles nearer to the dismal sight Of some lost love; so yonder tree seems knit Fast to the grave beneath; my heart takes flight, To that lone yew, and cowers under it.