He said that he would come one Sunday night,

He spoke to me as if I were a child.

No year has been like this that has just gone by;

It may be that what Father says is true,

If things are so it does not matter why:

But everything has burned and not quite through.

The colours of the world have turned

To flame, the blue, the gold has burned

In what used to be such a leaden sky.

When you are burned quite through you die.