Volume Iii Part 5 (1/2)

That yon white bird on homeward wing Soft-sliding without motion, And now in blue air vanis.h.i.+ng Like snow-flake lost in ocean,

Beyond our sight might never flee, Yet forward still be flying; And all the dying day might be Immortal in its dying!

Pellucid thus in saintly trance, Thus mute in expectation, What waits the earth? Deliverance?

Ah no! Transfiguration!

She dreams of that ”New Earth” divine, Conceived of seed immortal; She sings ”Not mine the holier shrine, Yet mine the steps and portal!”

Aubrey Thomas de Vere [1814-1902]

”IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING”

In the cool of the evening, when the low sweet whispers waken, When the laborers turn them homeward, and the weary have their will, When the censers of the roses o'er the forest aisles are shaken, Is it but the wind that cometh o'er the far green hill?

For they say 'tis but the sunset winds that wander through the heather, Rustle all the meadow-gra.s.s and bend the dewy fern; They say 'tis but the winds that bow the reeds in prayer together, And fill the shaken pools with fire along the shadowy burn.

In the beauty of the twilight, in the Garden that He loveth, They have veiled His lovely vesture with the darkness of a name!

Through His Garden, through His Garden, it is but the wind that moveth, No more! But O the miracle, the miracle is the same.

In the cool of the evening, when the sky is an old story, Slowly dying, but remembered, ay, and loved with pa.s.sion still...

Hus.h.!.+... the fringes of His garment, in the fading golden glory Softly rustling as He cometh o'er the far green hill.

Alfred Noyes [1880-

TWILIGHT

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 G.o.d 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 you, and I found A woman sitting in a silent room Full 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 pall You lift across our Earth to cover it.

Olive Custance [1874-

TWILIGHT AT SEA

The twilight hours, like birds, flew by, As lightly and as free, Ten thousand stars were in the sky, Ten thousand on the sea; For every wave, with dimpled face, That leaped upon the air, Had caught a star in its embrace, And held it trembling there.