A day is drawing to its fall

   I had not dreamed to see;

The first of many to enthrall

   My spirit, will it be?

Or is this eve the end of all

   Such new delight for me?

I journey home: the pattern grows

   Of moonshades on the way:

“Soon the first quarter, I suppose,”

   Sky-glancing travellers say;

I realize that it, for those,

   Has been a common day.