The Poetry Corner

September Dark

By James Whitcomb Riley

1 The air falls chill; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the Hill: The dusk grows dense, The silence tense; And lo, the katydids commence. 2 Through shadowy rifts Of woodland lifts The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, While left and right The fireflies' light Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night. 3 O Cloudland gray And level lay Thy mists across the face of Day! At foot and head, Above the dead O Dews, weep on uncomforted!