From here through tunnelled gloom the track

Forks into two; and one of these

Wheels onward into darkening hills,

And one toward distant seas. 

How still it is; the signal light

At set of sun shines palely green; 

A thrush sings; other sound there's none,

Nor traveller to be seen- 

Where late there was a throng. And now,

In peace awhile, I sit alone;

Though soon, at the appointed hour,

I shall myself be gone. 

But not their way (the bow-legged groom,

The parson in black, the widow and son,

The sailor with his cage, the gaunt

Gamekeeper with his gun. 

That fair one too, discreetly veiled

All, who so mutely came, and went,

Will reach those far nocturnal hills 

Or shores, ere night is spent.