Opals (Custance)/Twilight

by Olive Custance

For other versions of this work, see Twilight (Custance).

Twilight

"Mother of the dews, dark eyelashed Twilight! Low-lidded Twilight o'er the valley's brim."Meredith.

 

Spirit of Twilight, through your folded wings I catch a glimpse of your averted face, And rapturous on a sudden, my soul sings "Is not this common earth a holy place?"

Spirit of Twilight, you are like a song That sleeps and waits a singer, like a hymn That God finds lovely and keeps near him long Till it is choired by aureoled cherubim.

Spirit of Twilight, in the golden gloom Of dreamland dim, I sought for you and found A woman weeping in a silent room Full of white flowers that moved and made no sound.

These white flowers were the thoughts men never tell, And the room's name is mystery, where you weep, Woman, whom we call Twilight when Day's spell Of toil is broken, and you bring back sleep! . . .