Acceptance
Robert Frost

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least, must knew
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in its breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from its nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif 
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. 
At most he thinks or twitter softly, "Safe!"
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be be.