Evening Worship

The amber west melts into saffron, The east, a misty vision of rose: Like the sun, our souls seek repose. The mountains, empurpled priests, The river, the chant from their lips, Sunlit the pine-candles' crimson tips.

At this hour of worship Shadows spread their wings; Silently the breeze-bell rings. The stars put a silver riband round night's tresses, The light fades like a receding song As fall soundless sounds from Nature's moon-gong.

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The rosy mist stilly polishes the round mirror, The moon; Golden her face

Reflecting the cool sweet glory of a Baby sun When dangling

His short golden arms in the cradle of the sky After night Gave him birth,

And herself died as day dies to see the moon, This golden Rose-washed stone

That the unseen hand puts on the crown of night Beside it puts Bits of white--

The star-jewels like million fancies, worshipping The goddess Of dream.

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The sun's golden spear, The violet cloud writhing in pain; Golden the tint of the sky, The tall trees wave their green-gold hair.

Music of this hour! The zephyr's perfume-laden argosy Drifts with the song of lutes Down the sunset-stream that falls from heaven's bower.

Another flow of light, Tinkling like the intangible bells of paradise, Flows out of my heart Into the mysterious love-perfumed ocean of night.

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