Fading light tires some but not us,
in warm phosphorus glow we lie
forever following youth’s compass.
The passive fall blue sky tires bugs’ buzz,
as children are called home they cry.
Fading light tires some but not us.
Perhaps they will think it rebellious
if after dusk we dare not sigh
forever following youth’s compass.
Vagabond men lay near, nigh sleepless
escaping not my watchful eye,
fading light tires some but not us.
Struck thus by something so precious
the heathen’s sun god dare not rise
forever following youth’s compass.
Night truly has evil’s dark conscience
tempting old men to sin and die.
fading light tires some but not us
forever following youth’s compass.