The wan white clouds are trailing Low o'er the level plain, And the wind brings with its wailing The chill of the coming rain; Fringed by the faded heather, Wide pools of water lie, And birds and leaves together Whirl through the evening sky. "Haste thee away, oh, winter day!" The weary-hearted weep and say: "Sad is thy light, and slow thy flight, And sweet the words--good-night, good-night."