Homeward Going

GRAY smoke in the green leaves, Someone homeward going, No sound in the lone hills . . . Only cattle lowing. Still trees and a hushed world, Leaf and limb unshaken, No wind in the tall grass, Creeksides bird-forsaken. Pale, pale and with mute lips One in shadow lying — Near gone from the green world, Sorrow nigh him sighing. Day's strife and a life's strife Each in quiet ending; Life's light and the dark of death Softly interblending. One star on a far ridge, Home the Homeward going, No sound on the lone hills . . . Only cattle lowing.