The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Through clouds like ashes, The red sun flashes On village windows That glimmer red. The snow recommences; The buried fences Mark no longer The road o'er the plain; While through the meadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly passes A funeral train. The bell is pealing, And every feeling Within me responds To the dismal knell; Shadows are trailing, My heart is bewailing And tolling within Like a funeral bell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CARILLON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW UNREALITY by MERCEDES DE ACOSTA BROADWAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE MAD SCULPTOR by WILLIAM ROSE BENET NIGHT ON OUR LIVES by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT IRREPARABLENESS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING WITH CORTEZ IN MEXICO by WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL |