Lament for the Hardman

When the colors fade to gray and dust, And life lays its weary head on stone, I find the cruel silence breaking through, The rustle of leaves, a horse nearby alone.

O green that flees, O twilight’s hush, Where wildflowers bloom on forgotten paths, A gentle sigh, a sweet whispering rush, The shadows dancing on unbent grass.

There, daylight meets with twilight’s wane, As crickets start their evening songs, The echo of laughter once rampant and wild, Now fades softly to where it belongs. —Louis MacNeice

• Louis MacNeice