Sonnet III — “When Life Stoops Low And Shadows Long”

When gathered dusk ensnares the hills and fields,
and winds around the trunks of oaks and elms,
and crimson sun sinks low over golden yields,
the stalks of wheat that stand like crested helms —

When birds fly south to find their hidden nests,
and busy bees return for night repose,
and moonlight gives the clouds their silver crests,
and stars array the sky in shining clothes —

When golden life stoops low and shadows long
begin to creep up through the window-glass
and you can hear the sickle sweep, death’s song,
and eyes grow cold and mute to watch life pass —

Then give your hand away to death, your lord,
and he will fix on you a golden cord.

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