Last Hours

  A gray day and quiet,
  With slow clouds of gray,
And in dull air a cloud that falls, falls
    All day.

  The naked and stiff branches
  Of oak, elm, thorn,
In the cold light are like men aged and
    Forlorn.

  Only a gray sky,
  Grass, trees, grass again,
And all the air a cloud that drips, drips,
    All day.

  Lovely the lonely
  Bare trees and green grass—
Lovelier now the last hours of slow winter
    Slowly pass.