By William Winter
From The Poems of William Winter, pg. 140
THE sere leaves rustle in the moaning blast,
The dreary rain is pattering on the roof,
Sad bless, far off, toll through the twilight hours—
And I shall never see thy face again!
The shadows deepen, but there comes no dawn;
And through the dark I hear the rustling robe
Of the grim angel that has veiled my eyes—
Never to see thy glorious face again!