THE SPIRIT OF EVENING
|
O, the day hurries by
With a flush in the sky Like the blush on a young girl's cheek, While her feet touch the tips Of the hill, and her lips Are moist with a dew that is sweet. On the slopes she has kissed There cling veils of white mist She has loosed from her shoulders in flight. And I reach through the haze Till my soul reels and sways, Asking Evening the secret of Night. Then I see the veils shift, Setting shadows adrift; The Sibyl has cycled her flight. And my soul in its gaze Through the challenging haze Stands baffled and blind in the night. |