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 field will hold us,
And make us all to dwell with him to the end of human faring.

Edwin Arlington Robinson