Come away ! Come away ! There's a frost along the 



marshes. 

 And a frozen wind that skims the shoal where it shakes 



the dead black water; 

 There's a moan across the lowland and a wailing through 



the woodland 

 Of a dirge that seeks to send us back to the arms of those 



that love us. 



Come away ! come away ! — or the roving fiend will hold 



us, 

 And make us all to dwell with him to the end of human 



faring. 



Edwin Arlington Robinson. 



