THE BATTLE

Black clouds hung low and heavy,

Above the sunset glare;

And in the garden dimly

We wandered here and there.

So full of strife, of trouble

The night was dark, afraid,

Like our own love, so merely

For tears and sighings made.

That when it came to parting,

And I must mount and go,

With all my soul I wished it —

That God would lay me low.