Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/154

Twilight

By Olive Custance

 

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

 

Spirit of Twilight, through your folded wingsI 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 songThat sleeps, and waits a singer, like a hymnThat God finds lovely and keeps near Him long,Till it is choired by aureoled cherubim.

Spirit of Twilight, in the golden gloomOf dreamland dim I sought you, and I foundA woman sitting in a silent roomFull of white flowers that moved and made no sound.

These