The Yellow Book/Volume 3/Twilight

by Olive Custance

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

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 white flowers were the thoughts you bring to all,And the room's name is Mystery where you sit,Woman whom we call Twilight, when night's pallYou lift across our Earth to cover it.