Early Dusk

See, how the little things begin to go,
Housekeeping frets, and talk, and marketings
And noises in the road. For this hour brings
The eventual hush that weathers know.
And now once more I see, with the old sight,
The blue of larkspur crumpled at the door;
The pears fallen in the grass; yonder a score
Of upper windows in a small, soft light.
The yard's length near, a neighbor, pulling free
Her brier-white sheets from line, I dimly hear.
And now the careful house, grown starry-clear,
Draws back, leaves me to what shall ever be,
Punctual to their old company with me—
My ache-in-heart, my Joy of yester-year!