Trembled the first cold night-flame, passed the far
Low-whistling sadness of a duck’s wings beating.
Heart strained to heart. The purple deepened through
A twilight shriven in its pain of dying;
Swiftly the wing-beats slanted earthward to
The darkening marshes, with a throat-soft crying.
Night crept through dusk, as now the old surprise
Crept through our kisses to the inner love,
An age-old wistfulness. Our pensive eyes
Yearned to the darkness and the veil thereof;