This brief poem depicts death as something dark that obliterates everything. Yet the word “death” isn’t used, and the meaning can be imputed from the final lines of each stanza. Death is seen as encroaching and unstoppable.
“Going” is often compared to its companion poem “Coming”, which deals wit...
There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.
Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.
Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to the sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?
What loads my hands down?