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Come, love, for now the night and day
Play with their pawns of black and white,
And what day loses in her play
Is won by the encroaching night.
The clematis grows old and clings
Grey-bearded to the road-side trees
And in the hedge the nightshade strings
Her berries in bright necklaces.
The fields are bare; the latest sheaf
Of barley, wheat and rusty rye
Is stacked long since; and every leaf
Burns like a sunset on the sky.
Come, love, for night and day, alas,
Are playing for a heavier stake
Than hours of light or leaves or grass;
Come, love; come, love, for sweet love's sake.
Andrew Young
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