Dusk: A Poem
How I love the dreaming dusk,
When drowsy life falls fast asleep.
And into houses, nests, and dens,
All breathing things do creep.
The silence falls like heavy dew
As one by one the stars appear.
The darkness comes with gentle step,
A quiet mother, drawing near.
The silver crescent of the moon
Is tangled in the trees,
While a gentle hushing lullaby
Is murmured in the breeze.
The amber turns to lilac
In a sky of deepening night.
And a gentle rush of wings is heard
From an owl’s silent flight.
In the last light of the day,
That smoky dimness, clear and cold,
The trees stand grave and dark and still,
Like father-kings of old.
The pearly light fades from the sky
And above the far horizon’s rim
Diamond bright a star is seen
Like a candle, flickering dim.