The late winter snow had grown dark with age and lay like a compressed grey blanket in the yard around them.

This is the poet who once moaned that the sky had grown dark with invitation cards.

The reason it grew dark was that my plane was in the middle of the storm.

The daylight faded fast and it grew dark as night.

Beyond Zeberged the sky grew dark with clouds, hanging heavy in the sky like thick, opalescent gauze.