Come just after sunset and inspect it
Evening greenness of the new-mown sward:
It is not like something long collected
By ourselves and inwardly upstored

That we now, from feeling and reviewing
New hope, jubilation half-forgot
Mixed with inner darkness still, are strewing
Out in thoughts before us on this spot

Under trees like Dürer's , that today
Bear the weight of work-days uncomputed
In their ripe abundancy enfruited
Serving, patient, finding out the way

That which overtops all mеasure so
Yet may be ingathеred and outgiven
When a long life willingly has striven
To will only that and quietly grow