Benjamin Britten — Winter Words Op. 52: 1. At Day-close in November

The ten hours’ light is abating       And a late bird wings across Where the pines, like waltzers waiting, waiting       Give their black heads a toss Beech leaves, that yellow the noontime      Float past like specks, like specks in the eye; I set every tree in my June time       And now they obscure the sky And the children who ramble through here       Conceive that there never has been A time when no trees, no tall trees grew here       That none will in time be seen