An Autumn Love Cycle/Le Soir

by Georgia Douglas Camp Johnson

Le Soir

Mute-lipped—Mute-lipped— unquestioning grim-visaged Fate,I cleave the shadows toward the Western Gate;And yet—Mute-lipped— my lagging heart still holdsMute-arms outstretchedUnto earth's gleaming folds.

Who knows?Mute-lipped— perhaps Hope's blossoms sprayIn lush profusionO'er the edge of day!