“I shall come back Very quietly, very softly, A little brown shadow.
I shall not come When the moon is white like a bone, And the house-dogs howl. Not on a dark night With uneasy winds, When the ivy scratches the window, And the paper stirs on the wall.
I shall come back In the Autumn, In the early twilight. I shall wear a russet cloak And have a basket on my arm With red apples and brown nuts in it, And golden honey-comb.
I shall watch the children playing And they will not be afraid. The old woman will just walk past and nod; Walk past, and into the beech-wood With its coppery leaves on the ground, And down by the pond, and the fields With their big yellow ricks.
I shall pass the cottage-windows – Those with red curtains and glinting with firelight. I shall watch the blue smoke from the chimneys And think of the groups around the fire. Will any be thinking of me? I don’t mind – I am just a little brown shadow, flitting past.
Must I leave it? Cold and alone, must I go Through the wilds beyond Earth To the courts where the white angels stand August, majestic?