Cometh the night. The wind falls low, <br />The trees swing slowly to and fro: <br /> Around the church the headstones grey <br /> Cluster, like children strayed away <br />But found again, and folded so. <br /> <br />No chiding look doth she bestow: <br />If she is glad, they cannot know; <br /> If ill or well they spend their day, <br /> Cometh the night. <br /> <br />Singing or sad, intent they go; <br />They do not see the shadows grow; <br /> "There yet is time," they lightly say, <br /> "Before our work aside we lay"; <br />Their task is but half-done, and lo! <br /> Cometh the night.<br /><br />John McCrae<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-night-cometh/
