Darkened, yet floweth on and on

Between black banks of memory, into the Soul's white home.

[38]

[38]

32

THE COMING OF THE TIDE OF NIGHT

Pale this twilight-face,

Shade-ridden the horizon-light;

The forest, a green-gold vision of grace

In its frame of lavender mist.

No rose-leaf washed in moonlight;

No vine on vermilion walls;

Pale sunlight fading into night,

Dark tunes, the music of the hour.

No death, nor life is ours, here;

But the vast vague sea of black

Sounded by star-mariners

Seeking the Infinite's track.

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[39]

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